Apollo's Captive
by gemathyst
Summary: [COMPLETED] Paris was my partner in crime. Hector was my refuge. But Achilles was my world. [BriseisAchilles]
1. Default Chapter

**_Chapter 1 – Childhood_**

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When I was nine years old, my cousin Paris managed to climb up thirty feet to my bedroom, haul himself over the railings of the balcony outside, and come crashing onto the floor with a loud thump that woke me up with a jump. He recovered instantly, though, as most young boys are apt to do irregardless of how wounded they are, and moved stealthily across the room to where I sat on my bed, staring open-mouthed at him.

The first thing he did was to silence me, then he whispered conspiratorially, "I've stolen Father's horse. Let's you and I ride away on it and explore Troy properly."

He was always an imp, that handsome cousin of mine, with his dark brown curls carefully brushed to make it seem as though they were carelessly strewn over his head, and his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. Even at ten, Paris was a dandy and well-versed in ways of charming the fairer sex. I was nine and, having scarcely anybody but Paris for a companion, practically adored him.

We sneaked off without anybody knowing; not even the mean old head servant who usually glided about waiting for Paris or I to get into trouble; and he hoisted me onto the horse. Young though he was, he was a capable rider, and soon we were out of the palace and into the sleeping city of Troy.

It was a beautiful day, neither too cold nor too sunny, with fragrant breezes wafting through our hair. We ate berries, chased butterflies, stole a few fruits from the marketplace while staring at the housewives shopping, joined in a running competition, and had a generally wonderful time until night fell and we began to feel the first pangs of fear.

"Don't worry, I know the way home," Paris said, but he didn't. His normally laughing eyes were roving to and fro as though trying to recognize the looming shadows of people and the silhouettes of trees he'd never seen, and I sighed behind him, longing for home and all of its comforts. I was tired by then; there was a huge scratch on my ankle, my skirt was torn, and most unpleasant of all – my stomach was rumbling.

We rode on for a while, not seeing a single familiar object, when suddenly, out of the darkness materialized the one person whom we'd both been silently yearning for.

_"Hector!"_ both of us shrieked at the same time, and I almost fell off the horse in my eagerness to be in my older cousin's safe embrace.

Hector must have been seething with rage, but he said nothing at that time – only held me close, stroked my hair, and wiped the tears of relief off my dusty cheeks. How secure, how comforting it was to be in those strong arms…to know that I was no longer lost, and to know that home was not so far away!

Paris, though just as glad as I was to see his brother, remained seated on the horse, his face troubled. "Do you love me, brother?" were the first words he spoke. "Will you fight for me no matter what?"

Hector looked at him sternly. "I think I should take you back," he said.

With Hector leading the way, we arrived at the palace in what seemed a mere matter of minutes. How was it that Paris and I had wandered round and round, seemingly a hundred miles away?

Just before entering the palace, Hector stopped and turned to face us. "Everyone has been worried sick about both of you," he said, more calmly than I expected him to. "Hecuba has been crying since the morning." He half-glared at us, his eyes like goblets of fire. "Neither of you know your way around Troy yet. How could you have done such a reckless, irresponsible thing?" He then directed his gaze at Paris. "You, Paris, how could you have taken Briseis away like that? Surely you know that no matter what happens, you should never endanger Briseis' life."

We hung our heads, too ashamed and too tired to say anything; and in the next moment, found ourselves firmly clasped in Hector's embrace. He kissed our foreheads and said briefly, "Never do that again." With that, he led us in, interceded to Uncle Priam on our behalf, and sent us to bed with good suppers in our stomachs.

Paris and I always remembered the forgiveness that we'd felt in Hector's kiss, and from then on vowed never to worry him again. To the two of us children, Hector was our sun, our moon, our refuge, the entire world. Uncle Priam loved both of us dearly and, even though I was only his orphaned niece, treated me as his own; but neither he nor anyone else matched up to Hector in our hearts.

We shared Hector, undisturbed, between us for the next six years – at the end of it, he belonged no more to us, but to someone else. If Andromache had not been the lovely person that she was, we would have detested her for taking Hector away and breaking up our happy little threesome. But she was so sweet, so lovable, that we fell under her spell directly and wondered no more what exactly captivated Hector so much that he watched for her coming and going, spent every moment that he could by her side, and came back home with a dreamy look in his usually somber eyes.

His marriage to Andromache was approved by everyone. Uncle Priam had always believed that none but the most deserving woman in the world was worthy of Hector; but whether or not Andromache was indeed the most deserving did not matter in the end. He kissed them both, smiled on them with eyes tearing with joy, and blessed their life together.

Paris and I crept down to the kitchen on the wedding night and quickly polished off about half of the remains from the wedding feast. We were caught by the same mean old head servant, who coincidentally came into the kitchen just when Paris was stuffing an oversized fruit into his mouth. That nasty old thing – who had surprisingly remained alive all those years – tried her utmost best to get us into trouble, but Uncle Priam laughed it off as juvenile mischief and sent us back to bed.

Years wore on, and things were changing. Paris was no longer my partner in crime. He was growing up fast; a tall, beautiful-looking young man of sixteen, luxuriating in the company of Troy's prettiest maidens…perhaps doing more than simply listening to them play on musical instruments or reciting poetry with them; but I knew nothing of it other than the servants' gossip. Uncle Priam kept me relatively sheltered – I lived my days with frequent visits to the temple and being a useful companion to Andromache.

I was not allowed to go out without a soldier accompanying me; and even then, only if I did not go out too often. Rather than having a stern-faced, non-communicative man marching silently beside me, I preferred to stay at home, nursing Andromache's newborn baby, Astyanax. Unlike other princesses of Troy, Andromache insisted on taking care of Astyanax herself.

When I was eighteen, Paris and Hector sailed away to Sparta to "make peace with them", as Uncle Priam described it. We waved them off from the shore, those two young, promising men, little knowing what disaster would befall us when they returned.

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Do press the little button down there saying 'Go'!


	2. Adolescence

**_Chapter 2 – Adolescence _**

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When we were alone together, Paris and I often talked of the subject that held our interest more than any other. It was of falling in love; how a man and a woman could love each other enough to pledge themselves to one another for life. We'd seen Hector falling in love with Andromache; had witnessed for ourselves how absorbed he'd been in her; but hadn't understood the emotion.

"What is it like to fall in love?" Paris had asked Hector once.

"It is like dancing up to the highest heavens," Hector had answered dreamily.

That reply was so unlike prosaic Hector that it was eerie. We refrained from asking him anything more about it, simply satisfied ourselves by spying on him and Andromache on the rare times that they were alone in the palace. Later on, Paris reproached both of us for providing unwanted eyes and ears, but when Hector proposed to Andromache, he was paying just as much attention as I was. It was then that I discovered what a lover's kiss was, and after that Paris was absolutely adamant on trying it out.

"But we've all kissed everyone before," I protested.

"Not in that way," Paris wheedled. "Please, please, Briseis, do let's try it."

I submitted in the end, but it was no pleasant experience. Our teeth clanked together so hard and our noses kept on bumping until in the end I refused to kiss him anymore. Paris grumbled a little, saying how was he supposed to kiss a girl when he couldn't even practice perfecting his kiss with me, but he too gave up.

Still, despite our failures at kissing, the subject of love never lost its interest. "I wonder if I will ever find a woman to love next time," Paris would say, putting both his hands behind his head and staring up at the azure blue sky. "Do you think I will, Briseis?"

"But you love many women, Paris," I said.

He shot a sharp glance at me. "I love _you," _he said after a few moments of thinking.

"Not in the way you love _them," _I said.

"Yet not in the way Hector loves Andromache," Paris analyzed. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with any of _them. _The woman I'll love, Briseis…" he sat up straight and turned round to look at me with bright eyes; "The woman I'll love will be like no other woman. She'll be so beautiful that she will take away the breath of whoever who sees her. She'll be graceful, lovely, sweet…a little like Andromache, but a lot more intriguing. I will not settle for anything less."

"You ask a lot of Apollo, Paris!"

"Oh, I know you," Paris said off-handedly. "You'd marry any man as long as you truly loved him. But not I, Briseis."

"I know you too, Paris," I said, "and you mean what you say."

Andromache missed Hector terribly all the while he was away on the trip to Sparta. Even Astyanax was no comfort to her. "Ah, Briseis, you are too young yet to know how it feels," she said when I tried to cheer her up.

"But when he was here you saw him every day."

"And every day apart is like a thousand years," she said gloomily.

There was simply no cheering up a person who wanted to be miserable, and so I left her that way. Those three months that the brothers were away were the most boring of my existence. Plenty of young men came to visit me, but having been used to playful, handsome Paris and sensible, intelligent Hector, all of them were found to be sadly lacking. Andromache, who was usually a stimulating companion, was unbelievably dreary; Uncle Priam fretted about his sons, and I wandered about like a ghost bereft of all friends.

They had been gone only a month when I took the vow to devote myself to Apollo. For many years Uncle Priam and Hecuba had been wanting, but not pressurizing, me to do so; but I'd never felt prepared until now. It was difficult to give up all my secretly cherished dreams of becoming someone's wife some day; of bearing sons as cherubic as Astyanax; of loving someone in the way that Andromache loved Hector – but I knew I'd made the right choice.

At that moment, there seemed to be nothing better than a life of devoting myself to the god whom I'd been taught to love and honour from the day I opened my eyes. I could either love and honour a god, or love and honour a man; there was simply no comparison between the two. And anyhow, even if I hadn't made the right choice, there was no turning back.

All the young men who'd come calling stopped coming, and I was left with Astyanax and Apollo for company. The novelty at first of being a priestess was wearing off and I was beginning to feel, much to my chagrin, a little bored. Life had lost much of its colour and vibrancy. The walls of the temple assumed the bleak, grey walls of the Trojan prisons. There was nothing to do but to anticipate my cousins' return.

On the morning of the day they came back, I was in the temple, and missed them as they came riding up to the palace gates. The moment I was out of the temple, I caught up my skirts and ran lightly over to the palace, catching sounds of people's excited chatter and horses neighing. Troy had suddenly come back to life.

I finally approached and the first thing I saw was an incredibly beautiful woman standing before Uncle Priam. The next thing I saw was Paris, tall and resplendent with a proud smile on his lips. Without stopping to think, I exclaimed, "Paris!" and dashed across to hug him.

He laughed delightedly and we embraced like old times, grinning at each other happily. "Beloved cousin," he said, "you have grown in beauty!"

I looked at him appraisingly, proud of such a handsome cousin, then turned to Hector as he came up. "Hector," I called, and we hugged closely.

It was only in the evening, when the festivities and greetings were over, that I was at last introduced to the stunning woman. Paris led her up to me, his eyes gleaming with pride, and said, "Briseis, meet Helen."

I looked at the loveliness of the young woman and understood his unspoken words.

_Formerly of Sparta, Briseis, but of Troy now. _

And for all the times that Paris and I had been in trouble together, had laughed together, had dreamed dreams together, I held out my arms and welcomed her into the family.

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Thank you all for your lovely comments! If you're not too busy, do drop one and tell me what you think of this chapter :)


	3. The Storm

**_Chapter 3 – The Storm_**

The next morning, I found Paris sitting alone in the garden. His eyes were closed and there was a smile playing over his lips. Many times I had found him sitting in the exact same position with the exact same expression on his face, but now there was something subtly different about him, and I paused to try and pinpoint it.

Before I could, though, he opened his eyes and saw me. "Briseis," he called, patting the ground beside him cordially, "sit down."

"I'm just on my way to the temple," I said.

He frowned and stuck out his lower lip. "Come now, cousin, surely you cannot refuse an old friend who's been away for three months."

I couldn't, and in the next moment was seated comfortably beside him. He grinned and sighed contentedly. "You can't think how much I've wanted to talk to you these past three months."

"I believe I know of what," I said, "but do continue."

"Those wretched weeks in Sparta!" Paris exclaimed; "that fat, disgusting king, imprisoning Helen within his claws! He played around with women as though they were toys, but he allowed _her_ no freedom. Peace, indeed! I would've spat on his face if only I could."

"What a relief that you did not," I said. _But you stole his wife away, and that is worse than any spit. _

Paris did not hear the silent sentence and continued, "I'm in love with her, cousin. She's the most amazing woman I've ever known. Oh, it was so delightful, yet so painful at that time, to be in love with what seemed to be the most inaccessible woman in the world! I suffered so each night after leaving her room – not daring to tell Hector, and no Briseis to confide in. How I longed for you then!"

"I've heard that absence does make the heart grow fonder," I remarked acidly. "But Paris," I added, more kindly this time, "perhaps you _should_ have told Hector."

"And have him condemn me? He was so furious when he found out that I'd brought her on the boat with us. I almost thought he wanted to throw me overboard."

"Hector is Hector," I said.

Paris suddenly looked at me, his eyes softening.

"He will always protect us," I said. "There are only three people whom he'd do everything in the world for, Paris. The both of us and Andromache." A lump came, unwelcome, in my throat and I choked slightly as I said, "He loves us more than even Astyanax."

 The next few minutes passed by quietly.

"Have I put him in danger, Briseis?" Paris asked abruptly, his voice hard. "Have I endangered the person who brought me up…and you…when I promised Hector I never will?"

My heart was too full for words; I could not speak.

"Or the people of Troy, when I'm their prince?" Paris went on agitatedly. "I was thinking, cousin, and suddenly everything doesn't seem as simple as they did. Hector was right when he said I was letting Troy burn for Helen. Who knows what Menelaus will do to us? Apollo probably hates me now." He stared at the grass. "But I don't care for Apollo. I care for you and Hector. Do you think I've disappointed Hector, after all the care and love he's lavished on me my whole life?" In a lower voice, "do _you_ condemn me, Briseis?"

I found my voice at that. "Oh no," I said. "You couldn't ever disappoint anyone, Paris, least of all Hector. And you know very well that I will never condemn you. We love you, cousin, and love forgives all wrongs…just as you would forgive Helen if she ever made a mistake."

A glance at the slowly awakening household reminded me that I had to be at the temple soon. "There is no shame in love," I said, getting to my feet. "It's wonderful that you've found your ideal woman, Paris." Here he smiled slightly, remembering the youthful declaration that he'd made years ago. "Perhaps you did a few things wrong," I said. "But just remember that you'll always be our Paris, no matter what."

A tear came into my manly cousin's eye. "Thank you," he said. "Helen has the best sister she could ever wish for in you."

And Troy…I thought as I walked slowly away. What was happening on the other side of the sea? How was Menelaus reacting to his wife's disappearance? Oh, beautiful, willful Paris, I truly did not condemn or blame him…only hurt so much at the thought of his people despising him once the enemy ships appeared on the horizon.

In the temple, I went down on my knees before the statue of Apollo. _If you will only help us, my lord…save us and protect us…because we will not be safe much longer. _

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It was a quiet, still morning, much like any other morning in Troy. The priests behind me were murmuring their daily prayers. Half of Troy was still lost in the mists of sleep. The sea was as blue as the sky, stretching on for what seemed like eternity. The temple was bathed in early morning serenity.

The statue of Apollo was before me, the blank stone eyes gazing endlessly into the distance. I looked up at the god which had ruled over me all my life, and the god which I would serve for the rest of it. Life would be like this always; peaceful and calm with the soothing daily ritual of prayers and offerings…so far removed from the worries and hassles of the world outside. _And how monotonous…_

Then, suddenly, a loud clash made all of us start. The priests stopped their murmured prayers instantly and looked up, bewildered. A bell was being hit on vehemently; the bell that was to warn all Trojans of approaching danger. Unthinking, I rushed out of the temple to where I could overlook the sea, and got the greatest shock of my life.

Over the horizon appeared a dozen ships…no…thirty…no, a hundred…no, more than a hundred! Oh lord! The entire Greece was coming to get us!

I turned and looked frantically at the priests beside me. The horror in their eyes mirrored my own. What chance could we possibly have against such a mighty army? We were dead, all of us. There was no hope. Troy would be burning by the time the sky was filled with the rosy red hues of the setting sun.

The priests hurried back into the temple, presumably to beg Apollo for help. I could not; my feet were locked onto the ground, and although my heart was crying out an inarticulate cry to Apollo to protect us, my eyes remained fixed on the sea, watching with growing terror as the ships drew nearer.

There was one particular ship that sailed far ahead of the rest. It had a black sail, and in my mind's eye rose vividly the image of that black sail covering the entire Troy like a shroud, capturing within it all the doomed people…all _my_ doomed people whom I loved so much.

I could see all the archers forming a defense along the walls, bow and arrow ready. Several Trojan soldiers in full armours were flying out of the gates, a well-trained group who took up positions immediately. Then I shifted my eyes back to the ship with the black sail. It was coming nearer, nearer…I could just barely make out one man facing the rest and talking to them…they were only a few inches away…and they were coming!

"Briseis!" someone was calling me.

One of the priests was gesturing wildly at me. "Come in! It's dangerous out there!"

Arrows flew up into the air and rained down on the men jumping off the ship. Several fell, but none of the arrows hit one man with blond hair, who was charging up the beach ahead of the rest. More arrows. More men fell.

Then, before my very eyes, they formed a huge shield over themselves by joining all their shields together. As one, they raised the enormous shield to meet the arrows, which deflected off harmlessly. This was not working. None of them were being hit. They were disconnecting now, running up the beach and cutting down Trojan warriors like mere insects.

"BRISEIS!"

My legs were trembling, but somehow I managed to turn and run back into the temple.

"Hide, quick!"

I needed no urging. The temple was the only building that was not within the high walls surrounding Troy.

I fell down behind the huge statue of Apollo and closed my eyes. What was it like to be dying? How would they kill me? Would they be merciful, and quickly slash my throat…or would they prolong the agony?

The fear in the temple was so thick that it was almost tangible. No one spoke a word – no one could. I could hear terrible noises outside; noises that meant men were dying…men who would never see their wives and children again. Oh, and I could smell the fire from the pyres burning – I could hear the agony in the screams of the widows…_Apollo, please, don't let them come here…please don't let them come…_

I couldn't breathe, I was feeling suffocated. This waiting…it was worse than anything…

"Take what you want," I heard a voice outside saying, and inside me my heart stopped beating. __

_They are here. _

Silence…then the temple exploded into a huge mess of blood and destruction. The priests of Apollo – harmless, loving old men…stabbed cruelly through their chests, their cries melting into one tremendous scream of pain, their blood staining the floors and the Greek soldiers' armours. I covered my ears, unable to listen anymore to those shrieks of inhuman pain, unable to look on the horrific scene any longer. I was stone, incapable of moving, absolutely useless in saving those poor old men who'd taken such good care of me.

They died eventually, their cries fading out, their bodies lying limply on the floor. The temple of Apollo desecrated. Gold and money taken…I could see the soldiers stuffing the treasures into their armours. Laughing maniacally. Eyes glinting.

They were totally unconscious of the fact that they'd just killed the most innocent men in the world. The priests of Apollo…why? Why?

I buried my face in my hands, struggling to hold in a sob, not daring to make a noise. If only I could remain hidden and unnoticed…if only they would think they'd killed everyone…if only they wouldn't discover me until Hector came. I knew that Hector would come. He always did.

"What have we here?"

Suddenly I felt a burning, tearing pain in my scalp and I was hauled up, biting my lips to restrain a strangled cry of pain. A soldier, bruised and splattered with blood, leered at me. "A priestess!" he said. "How precious!"

"What shall we do with her?" The man who was holding me by my hair demanded.

At that, power soared through my body and I began kicking. "Let me go!"

"Bitch!" The man holding me howled as I stamped on his foot.

For a brief moment I was free, but before I could even move two men had hold of me, one putting his arms around my waist and the other taking hold of one arm. I struggled, kicking and punching whenever I could, but even with my newfound energy I was powerless against these men. They were like animals, so strong were they – and they were laughing at this poor wretch, thrashing about like a mad fool.

Another man came up. He was slightly older, and had eyes so light that they looked barely mortal. "The Trojans are coming," he said sharply as his eyes flitted across to me.

_Hector!_ I opened my mouth to shriek out that dearly beloved name, but a soldier clapped his hand over my mouth, managing to scratch the bridge of my nose as he did so. "Not a word, darling. Otherwise I'll have to kill you."

"Save her," said the older man curtly. "She might satisfy Achilles."

I was borne out through the temple's side door by two soldiers…each step bringing me further from home and Hector. There was no hope…I was lost. A lifetime of slavery…or perhaps not even a lifetime, for they would kill me the second they were done with me…was the only future I could foresee.

Before they reached the beach I got one arm free and slapped one of them across the face, so hard that my own hand stung. He spat out a curse and slapped me back. "Be sure you don't do that to Achilles," he scowled. "He will not be as kind as me."

I turned my head towards the temple, which was growing smaller and smaller. The golden head of Apollo lay on the temple steps…an insult which would not go unpunished. Blood of Trojan soldiers was all around me. Death and destruction. Pain and suffering. With every last ounce of energy, I bawled out, "HECTOR!"

But for once in my life, Hector did not come.

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Isn't this a lovely long chapter? I'm glad that you liked the vignettes from Briseis' childhood! I always thought that she must've been really close to her two cousins, but the movie didn't emphasize it _that_ much. I originally wanted to put in a few more reactions to Helen's arrival, but people on the other board were wanting Achilles, so…


	4. He Feared Not The Gods

**_Chapter 4 – He Feared Not The Gods_**

They tied me up so tightly that my wrists were instantly bruised, laughed at me again, and left me here to rot. I couldn't say anything; nothing touched them. They were hardened warriors, used to the cruelty of war, and I was but another young little fool caught up in the crossfire of battle. They didn't care.

The pain in my wrists was bad, so bad that my entire body seemed to be on fire. I wanted nothing more than to crumble down and weep, but I would not…I would _not_ let these Greek animals have that satisfaction.

Here I was, bound and helpless, a girl who only the night before had sat on silken beds and held a dimpled, laughing baby. A girl who had never seen anyone die – had scarcely even seen a dead person. Now I was splattered with their blood…if not physically, then mentally. The priests' anguished cries still rang in my head, on and on in a long, terrifying refrain, and even though I tried to shut them out they would not go away.

Would life ever be the same again? Could I ever return to the temple and not see the faces of the dead priests or the blood spilled on the altars before me? No; it seemed impossible that a normal life would ever exist again. Nothing would remain unchanged.

And Hector…Andromache…Paris…Helen…Uncle Priam…they were on the other side of the high walls now. I had no way of knowing whether Hector was killed…but what did it matter? Perhaps I would never see him or any of them again.

Dimly, my mind registered someone entering the tent that I was in, but I was too far gone to turn around and see who. I only heard a male's voice saying, "The men found her in the temple. I thought she might…amuse you."

Then there was only silence. I turned my head slowly round and saw a man standing only a few feet away from me, calmly taking off his armour. He was tall, with a strong face and an equally, if not more so, strong body…a set jaw and hair the colour of gold. He may have been handsome, but to me he was straight from the Underworld, a laughing, mocking demon sent to earth to destroy me. So this, then, was Achilles – killer of men.

"What's your name," he said.

I refused to reply.

He looked at me for a long time, the penetrating blue of his eyes cutting through me. "Did you not hear me?"

I could no longer hold back; my hate for this gloating man was overpowering my logic. "You killed Apollo's priests!" I spat.

"I kill men who fight for their country," he cut in brusquely. "Not priests."

I almost laughed. How ridiculous this was turning out to be. "Well, your men did," I answered flatly. "The sun god will have his revenge."

That arrogant, conceited man rose an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Well, what's he waiting for?"

I wasn't about to let him triumph over me. "The right time to strike."

He continued to look unconcerned. "His priests are dead," he said. "I think your god is afraid of me."

Again, I had to restrain myself from laughing into the self-important face of this stupid man. "Afraid?" I asked bitterly. "Apollo is master of the sun. There's nothing…"

"Well, where is he?" He interrupted.

I glared at him in loathing. "And you're nothing but a killer. You wouldn't know anything about the gods."

He turned, flicked his fingers and several drops of water landed on me. My hatred rose a hundredfold after that insult. "I know more about the gods than your priests," he declared, then added in a more solemn tone, "I've seen them."

He came slowly towards me, and everything in me shuddered with repulsiveness as he drew nearer. I would have scrambled away to the farthest corner of the tent if it was possible, but it was not. He looked at me hard for a few moments. "You're royalty, aren't you? You've spent years talking down to men."

When I did not reply, he lifted up a lock of my hair and sniffed it. "You must be royalty."

There seemed to be nothing I could say to that, so I remained silent. He released my hair and said, "What's your name."

I swallowed hard, unsure now about whether or not to answer. He was absolutely disgusting, repulsive, all that was horrible…but there was something…

Why was he here? I knew next to nothing about him, but even then he could not be the sort of person to care about Menelaus' anger at losing Helen, or indeed the sort of person to obey the order of a king. Something else had brought him here.

When the silence threatened to become oppressive, he looked at me again. "Even servants of Apollo have names." He took up a dagger and I stared at it, suddenly wondering what he was going to do with it. He positioned it above my bound wrists and began tugging, and I was thinking that this was it, that he was slashing my wrists and the end would come quickly, but before I could even take in what was happening, my wrists were free. They were terribly bruised and bloodied…but they were free.

I looked at the man who'd just released me from the bonds…the last thing I had expected him to do. Quite against my will, I found myself saying quietly, "Briseis."

"Are you afraid, Briseis?" he asked, his tone oddly gentle.

I looked at him fully in the face now; his eyes were of a clear, unflinching blue – quite the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. I wanted to say that I was not; I was certainly not afraid of any Greek...but those eyes prevented that lie. "Should I be?" I asked softly.

The flap parted and the older man with the light eyes whom I'd seen in the temple looked in. How strange that he hadn't announced his arrival before sticking his head in. Achilles did not strike me as someone who took kindly to unexpected intruders. "My lord…"

Achilles' body tensed and his head lifted slightly.

The older man was undeterred. "Agamemnon requests your presence," he said meaningfully.

Achilles continued looking at me, but his mind was clearly on the man behind him. "You fought well today."

The older man's face broke into a shadow of a smile. "My lord…"

I grabbed at the opportunity while Achilles was still distracted and asked, "What do you want here in Troy? You didn't come for the Spartan queen."

He glanced at me. "I want what all men want." A pause. "I just want more."

There was only one thing he could mean…and that was glory. This warrior was willing to give up peace and life simply for his name to be shouted out from the rooftops? Oh, what foolish creatures men were! Life was such a precious gift and yet they would throw it away for such trivial affairs. How could it matter whether or not a name was remembered. It was so absurd.

"You don't need to fear me, girl," Achilles' voice broke my train of thought. Then, after a brief pause, "You're the only Trojan who can say that."

With that, he was gone.

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Ah, finally 'ze man' has made his entrance! Thanks to Joy for helping me out with the movie script, you rock, even though you did put 'sack of whine'…one of the best mis-hearings ever!

Thank you all for your comments! I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter, even though it's been done to death here at ff.net already. Unfortunately, there's just no avoiding it :D


	5. Swine

**_Chapter 5 – Swine _**

What sort of a man was Achilles? I had come prepared to hate him with everything in my being and look upon him as a heartless, cruel killer, but he had not shown a whit of either cruelty or heartlessness while talking to me. It was true that I had never heard anyone speak so lightly of the gods, but even so…

He told me not to fear him. What did he mean by that? If he had merely said "You don't need to fear me", I would have regarded it as a sort of twisted joke, but the next sentence was bewildering. "You're the only Trojan who can say that." Those words suggested that he had actually been serious. Achilles was certainly not one who would mince his words or tell kind lies.

"Bitch, get up."

I had heard no one entering, and now I started and looked up. Two soldiers smiled nastily as I stared at them; the next moment they were holding my arms so tightly that I could feel two bruises coming on. "Where are you taking me?" I yelled.

"To King Agamemnon," answered one.

"No!" I tried to shake off their hands, but they were far stronger than I was.

My cheek stung unbearably as the other man slapped me. "Shut up! What right do you have to struggle? Stand still!"

I wanted to cry for help, but I knew that there was no help available. This was not home now; I was not among friends, I was among enemies who would like nothing better than to see me suffer. "Don't hold me so tightly," I managed to say.

"Do you think we're idiots?" laughed they.

"Stop it! You're hurting me!" I shouted, but they only laughed louder.

They forced me out of the tent and dragged me along the sand as other men stood about, pointed and gossiped. Fury rose in me and, before I even thought about it, I spat on the face of one of them.

"You…" He stepped forward and delivered such a blow on my head that black spots flashed across my eyes.

Had these lowdown scum no respect for a female? I had never, in my entire life, seen a man strike a woman. The principles that parents taught their sons in Troy was never to be rough with any woman; always treat her with the utmost gentleness and respect. These Greek barbarians obviously had not been taught that simple rule.

And now I was being taken to the chief barbarian.

It was useless trying to struggle, but I did anyway; thrashing about like a mad woman and gaining a little satisfaction in seeing how they cursed as they tried to hold me down. If only Uncle Priam had not taught me to be polite in my speech, I would have cursed them as soundly as they were now cursing me…but Trojan royalty was above such indignities.

A boat lay ahead of me, ostentatiously decorated with three tents, the second bigger than the first and the third bigger than the second. It spoke volumes about the character of the man staying inside.

As I was brought in, I saw a fat, piggish looking man was standing inside, and he smirked so self-importantly that I had an incredible urge to wipe it off with a well placed blow. After all, hadn't Paris and I sparred together during our childhood days, and hadn't I occasionally won?

"The spoils of war," Fat Man sneered.

Fury spurred me on and, with one final twist, I managed to get out of the soldiers' deathlike grips. It was then that I realised Achilles was inside the boat as well.

He was standing just a few feet away from the fat man, and his eyes were so fiery that I realized why thousands of men quailed at a look. This was Achilles the warrior, flashing with wrath. His body was taut, his entire countenance livid, and his voice controlled as he said, "I have no argument with you, brother, but if you don't release her, you'll never see home again."

Fat Man, powerful though he may be, visibly shook in his shoes at the sight of such a furious Achilles. Coward, I thought scornfully, as he roared, "GUARDS!"

In a blink of an eye half a dozen soldiers had entered and were forming a circle around Achilles, shutting him in. He seemed barely intimidated; in fact he drew out his sword with such a sharp metallic clink that my nerves were jarred. This was wrong; they could not possibly be wanting to fight each other after the bloody battle – when would they ever be contented? Why couldn't they be satisfied with the amount of damage they'd already inflicted? Was not there anything that could curb their greed for more lives? "STOP!" I screamed before any of them could move.

I could see the surprise in their faces as all those hardy men turned to look at me.

"Too many men have died today," I said, my lips trembling, trying to stop the words from falling over each other. In my mind rose the image of the dead Trojan men I'd seen lying on the beach, and once more loathing filled me as I directed my gaze at Achilles. "If killing is your only talent then that is your curse," I half snapped at him. "I don't want anyone dying for me."

Achilles looked at me; his eyes were meditative, as though trying to impart to me something I could not understand. Wordlessly, he slammed down his sword.

Fat Man, of course, could not resist the opportunity to mock. "Mighty Achilles…silenced by a slave girl." _Slave girl! _"Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath." Shivers of revulsion ran up and down my spine as he spoke, smiling menacingly. "And then…who knows…?"

Achilles looked so incensed that I almost expected him to explode. "You sack of swine!" he growled. From somewhere he snatched out a dagger and pointed it vehemently at Fat Man. "Before my time is done, I will look down on your corpse and smile." The venom in his voice made everyone in the boat shiver.

A terrible desolation descended on me as I watched him stalk out of the tent. If before I had felt deserted by all friends, I felt even worse now. Achilles was my enemy; he had destroyed so many of my countrymen…but he had stood up for me. He had actually been willing to fight for me. Now I was left with no more defenders but my own self.

Perhaps I had done the wrong thing by stopping him from fighting…but how could I ever stand the sight of blood being spilled because of me? Greeks or Trojans, they were simply men with families…and wives waiting back home for their return. Along with every dead man was the broken heart of a woman…

That fat, disgusting creature was scowling darkly. "How I detest that man!" he erupted. "If he was not who he is, I would have him killed long ago."

"Your Majesty…" one of the soldiers coughed nervously. "Perhaps…"

"Hold your tongue!" Fat Man fired at him. "And leave this boat immediately!"

"The…the girl…"

"Leave her here!"

Submissively, all of them left.

What was I to do now? I watched Fat Man narrowly, trying to judge how long I could hold on to my life while being caged up with this beast. Perhaps not long…but death was a welcome friend compared to spending a lifetime of being a whore for this revolting man.

He came up to me and took hold of my chin with his hand. I glared into his eyes, refusing to back down. That would be weakness, and I absolutely would _not_ show even the slightest bit of weakness.

"A tough woman, eh?" he said darkly. "Well, let's see if you'll continue being so tough after tonight." He released my chin so abruptly that I was thrown down onto the ground. Laughing at my pathetic state, he walked off into his inner chambers.

Achilles had not been wrong when he called them a pack of swine.


	6. The Greek King

**_Chapter 6 – The Greek King  _**

Night was fast approaching. Contrary to what Agamemnon had said earlier, he did not order me to give him a bath. He had scarcely even appeared since he left, but I had no complaints about that. The less I saw of him, the better I felt. Hector told me once that first impressions were usually deceiving, but I doubted that an intimate knowledge of Agamemnon's character would make him any less repulsive.

_Hector…_

My heart gave a sudden throb of pain and I closed my eyes. _Hector, where are you? Paris, where are you? _Were they thinking of me, or had they forgotten me already? I heard Astyanax's coo, Andromache's soft laugh, Uncle Priam's gentle voice…and tears forced their way up into my eyes, scalding them unbearably. I was so used to calling on either Hector or Uncle Priam to rescue me, but now even if I screamed until my lungs burst, they would not come.

How lonely the darkness was. Before today I'd perceived the darkness as a friendly, warm blanket to envelope myself in…now it was frightening.

"Are you ready to warm my bed yet?" a loud voice boomed across and, trembling, I looked up to face my doom. In the day, it was so easy to fight them. The night was a totally different story. The blackness stripped me of all courage. Even the flickering of the candle flames seemed sinister.

"No." The word came out firmer than I thought it would.

"Still fighting," he sighed. "When will you learn that it is useless trying to fight against Agamemnon?"

I had to clench my fists to control myself from jumping up and giving him the hardest slap of his life. "I know not who you are," I said, my voice shaking with rage, "but I think that even if I do know, I won't want to share your bed."

That stung, and I was satisfied to see him look slightly taken aback. Then he snapped his jaws together and came closer. "Watch yourself, child," he said tightly. "You may find yourself cast into the sea by tomorrow night if you persist in having this arrogant attitude."

He snatched me up and crushed his lips against mine. The sudden pain half-blinded me for an instant and, shaking from head to toe with fury, I bit his lower lip with all the energy I had. He shouted in agony and stepped back at once, nursing his lip which was beginning to bleed. "You whore!" he yelled and rushed at me again, evidently intent on ripping off my robe.

I saw a bundle of flesh rolling in my direction, and did what any other sensible person would have done – sidestep. He went crashing into one side of the boat while I retreated to the other.

"Do you want a good beating?" he bawled at me. "I can have your flesh cut out and hung in strips outside the camp to remind the Trojans of who they are dealing with."

"Your threats do not frighten me in the least," I answered.

He rubbed his chin painfully, glaring at me malevolently, then the most evil smile I'd ever seen on a human's face spread over his. "Of course not," he said, more to himself than to me. He hoisted himself up and staggered across the boat to where his chamber was. "I am not done with you yet," he warned. "Tomorrow, we battle…but when that is over, you will know just how wrong you were to spar with me, the great Agamemnon, king of the entire Greece. I shall punish you until you cry for mercy and go down on your knees before me. You will never know a moment's peace until you submit to me, Agamemnon, as all people do eventually."

"You could have spared me that egoistical tirade and saved your breath for something more useful," I retorted. "I said it once and I will say it again – you do not frighten me."

Only when he was gone did I allow myself to sink down into a sitting position. Three words that Agamemnon had said spun round in my head, giving me a ghastly, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. _Tomorrow, we battle. _

Troy…my beloved Troy…was going to be attacked by fifty thousand Greeks. As a child I had wandered up and down the fortifications and watched the Trojan archers practicing their shooting, but now all the preparations we'd undertaken seemed inadequate. Although Troy was a fortress, secured all round by high, impassable walls, and had never fallen to any enemy, those enemies had never been like this.

Hector would be leading the army. I covered my face and ached for Andromache; hurt for the distress she must be going through now. Astyanax was barely a year old and his father might be killed the next day. If only someone else would take over – but who had the intelligence and shrewdness of my cousin? With his uncanny ability to read the enemy's strengths and weaknesses, he was the only one capable enough of taking charge. Paris was too inexperienced and too unskilled, having spent most of his years idling about instead of practicing.

The sound of the waves was lulling, but sleep forsook me all through the watches of that restless night. The seconds were doubly long, the minutes even more so.

When morning finally came, Agamemnon walked out of his chamber in full armour. He barely gave me a glance as he clattered his way out. Even the guard that he left outside…although why he should want a guard when he was being protected by the entire Greek army was beyond my comprehension…was no longer at his post.

Commanders shouted out orders, I could hear the sound of the troops shuffling into order, then the heavy, ominous sounds of footsteps marching past the boat I was in. Nobody said a word, and somehow the uncanny silence was frightening. When the last of the footsteps went by, I parted the tent flaps cautiously and looked out. The entire camp was deserted. That fool of an Agamemnon had sent out his whole army on the first battle.

I got out of the boat and looked fearfully at the Trojan walls. How small, how inadequate they suddenly seemed, against this enormous mass of men and weapons. Oh, would the walls fall? Could our Trojan army withstand the attack of fifty thousand Greeks?

An image of Troy being burned to the ground rose in my mind, accompanied by my uncle being stabbed by laughing Greek soldiers, Astyanax being thrown over the walls, Hector going down fighting in the midst of the enemy, Helen being given back to that brute of a husband…No! Troy would not fall…it could not fall!

I fell down on my knees. _All the gods and goddesses above, hear my prayer once. Protect the Trojans, give them strength to overcome the Greek forces. Protect Hector, keep him safe. If anything happens to him, Andromache's heart will break and Astyanax will be left fatherless. He is only a baby still…_

There was no sign of any battle, no sound of troops crashing into each other. I yearned to run up the hill and look at what was happening, but now I could see that the soldiers guarding the Greek camp were still there and getting past them was only a dream. I turned my eyes to the sky. It was a vivid, brilliant blue, with wisps of clouds floating by lazily. There was no disharmony, no hint that it was looking down on thousands and thousands of soldiers at war.

Then I heard a loud, anguished scream. Only seconds later, the roar of battle filled the air. So did the scent of fresh blood.


	7. Torment

**_Chapter 7 – Torment _**

When I heard sounds of them returning, my first instinct was to hide. After all, didn't I know this beach far better than any of them?

But even if I did hide, what then? What could I possibly do? The Greeks occupied the entire beach; there was no way of getting back to Troy. And besides, if they should find me…

I shuddered.

The first of them could be seen now, running as though all the demons of the Underworld were after them. Quickly, I retreated back into the boat…it seemed like a safe haven compared to thousands of charging soldiers…and gazed with rapt fascination at their faces. The first men who arrived did not seem too much perturbed; but as the back lines arrived, I could smell the blood on their armours and the fear in their faces.

My heart began to beat with joy. If they were running away from the battle in this manner, surely it had to mean that the Trojans had routed them. We had won. We, our small valiant city, had triumphed over the mighty Greeks on the first crucial battle.

The tent flaps were ripped open and a heavy-breathing man walked in. He looked too furious to say anything; then he swung round and glared at me as though I had single-handedly defeated his army. He glared at me for a very long time; then he sneered at me. "You and your miserable city," he spat.

"Why miserable?" I asked, keeping my voice from betraying any joy. "Is it because we have proven ourselves to be better than you thought?"

He positively snarled. "Do not be triumphant so soon. Your precious Trojans were running back into the shelter of your walls like scared rabbits."

"I saw the way _your_ soldiers were running back here," I said. "I think I should describe _them_ as scared rabbits."

Agamemnon crossed over to me swiftly and grabbed hold of my chin. "Do you think I will hesitate to kill you?" he said between clenched teeth. "But no, killing is too good for you. I shall keep you alive. If all else fails, I can always use you as a hostage. I am sure your uncle and cousin would rather lose Troy than have anything harm his darling niece."

I looked at him, hating him, wondering at his stupidity. This was the king who had defeated the countries in Greece? The other kings had to be mentally deficient. "This only proves to me that you know absolutely nothing about the Trojan love for country."

He flung me down like a sack of potatoes and shouted, "Coeus!"

The guard outside, who had assumed his post again, now poked his head in. "Your Majesty?" he said.

Agamemnon looked at me with a nasty smile. "If you had taken the trouble to curb that tongue of yours, I would have allowed you to stay with me. But now…" he turned to Coeus. "Bring her outside. Give her to the men. I'm sure they will like to have a woman to comfort them after today."

A dizzying feeling clutched hold of my head and I had to clench my fists to support myself. He was kicking me out into a pack of wolves who would devour me. This was cruelty, this was wickedness. I summoned up all my strength and spat so venomously into his face that he staggered back. "That's all you'll ever be worth for, you reject of the gods," I shouted at him.

His face turned red with anger and humiliation. It was not a pretty sight for a soldier to see his king being spat at by a mere captive. "Keep her alive," he snarled at Coeus. "We'll get more enjoyment out of torturing her than killing her."

Coeus bowed and grasped hold of my wrist. "Shall I take her out now, your Majesty?"

"Get her out of here!" Agamemnon bellowed.

Coeus said nothing while tugging me out of the boat, but the moment we were outside, he said, "The king of Greece is supremely powerful. It will not do to offend him."

"He is not more powerful than the gods," I replied snappily. There was no room in my heart to be anything but rude to the Greeks. The smell of blood was still in the air, the blood of _my countrymen, _whom these barbarians had murdered. I saw injuries on the men we passed and gloried in each and every one of those wounds. More men injured meant less men attacking Troy.

As we walked on I caught snippets of conversation. "Now that Menelaus is dead, there should not be any reason to fight Troy!"

"Even if we snatched Helen back from the hands of that young prince, who would claim her?"

"Did you see what a spectacle that foolish prince made of himself? Crawling on the ground and hugging his brother's leg, indeed!"

Paris?

"If Prince Hector had not killed King Menelaus, that young playboy would have been feeding the vultures by now."

"How daft to challenge a king when he can't even swing a sword properly!"

"That is one prince I would not fight for."

"He is not fit even to lick my armour clean!"

Loud, coarse laughter rumbled around the camp.

There was a hard lump in my throat that made swallowing incredibly difficult. So Paris had challenged Menelaus to a duel…silly, silly Paris! I loved my cousin dearly, but love did not blind me to his incompetence where fighting was concerned. And of course, as always, he had clung on to Hector for help as he had done since he was a toddler…

I could feel hot tears burning the back of my eyelids and, hastily, I dried my eyes before any could fall. It was wrong for me to weep, but I ached so for Paris' humiliation that the Greek army was laughing at his cowardice and helplessness. I could feel his shame, his anger at himself for not having stood up to Menelaus as a man.

Tears were coming rapidly and I dashed them away before anyone could see them. Poor Paris, my poor cousin, caught up in a war when he knew nothing about fighting. If only Helen loved him enough to understand and not blame…

I struggled to repress the sobs that were half-choking me and stumbled along, scarcely seeing where I was going. I could only hear the soldiers jeering at Paris, laughing at him, making fun of his position as a prince of Troy. Each insult went like a dagger to my heart, pierced straight through me and brought on an even swifter rush of tears. I wanted to scream at them, tell them that my cousin, who had showered me with love and laughter all my years, was worth more than all of them combined. _He may not be able to fight, but he has never uttered a single malicious word about anybody in his entire life…_

Coeus stopped and I found myself standing in the middle of a circle of tents with Greek soldiers staring at me from every angle I looked.

"Who may this one be, Coeus?" asked a man and I felt myself shrinking at the lust in his eyes.

"A present from King Agamemnon, friends," Coeus announced loudly. "Do with her as you please, only do not kill her." He smiled as a roar of laughter erupted, and turned to me. "I wish you all the best, my dear lady," he said in an undertone, then strode off.

Hands were suddenly all over my entire body, hands which fondled, pinched, touched, bruised, and despite my resolution to remain brave, I let out a scream of terror as those hands bore me up in the air and began to throw me about. I saw faces half delirious with laughter, heard rough voices shouting, but could take nothing else in. Those faces became a blur of indefinable colours as I felt myself being swirled about. My head began to ache and my eyes hurt. Every part of me was hurting.

"Stop it! You're hurting me!" I shrieked, but it seemed that no one heard…I was in a pit of darkness with vicious animals pouncing on me from all corners…there was no help, and I would not permit myself to call for it. I would not give them that sort of satisfaction. It was so painful…so painful…their hands were rough…their feet even rougher…

My head hit the ground. Sand pricked my eyelids and stuck to my lips…a blow to my ribs caused white flashes to burst before my eyes. There was a heavy weight on my body, I could feel hands moving up my shoulders to rip my clothes off and desperately, I kicked and squirmed my way out from under this heavy weight. My bones were cracking inside me; more blows, each one more painful than the last.

"It is too hot for such sport," I heard someone say.

"Look at her!" I heard another say, with disgust in his voice.

"Oh, leave her here," yet another said, laughing. "She'll never get anywhere."

I felt all hands leaving my body and then there was quiet. Weakly, I turned myself over and opened my eyes, moving them wearily around. I could see no faces, no legs. They had left me alone.

The midday sun was scorching my face, sapping all my strength. It pounded down at me, burning my skin. I felt agonizing beads of perspiration coating my forehead, but lifting my hand was so painful that I dropped it back down. Slowly, trying to avoid as much pain as possible, I turned over sideways and kept my face down in the sand, shielding it from the sun. I had never known the sun to be so hot before.

All afternoon they left me there roasting. My lips were parched and my throat was sore. When I touched my hair, it burned my fingertips. I felt like an animal ready for slaughter. I could not even think; the sweltering heat was wiping my mind blank. All I could feel was that sun, that tremendous sun scalding, blistering me. It was beyond human endurance. Yet I endured.

Night crept up. As I watched the last flicker of the sun disappearing into the horizon, no sunset had ever seemed so beautiful to me before. With it went the heat and came the blessed coolness. I felt myself slowly, very slowly, revitalizing from the pain that the men's little tortures and the sun had brought on.

Then, without warning, a splash of water landed on my face and a voice yelled, "How did you like your stay in the sun?"

Two hands pulled me to my feet and I found myself falling from one chest to another. With whatever strength I had I fought back, but they fought even harder; there were so many of them, and they were so strong. I was near exhaustion, I couldn't even see straight, my whole body was on fire with aches and pains, and there was a roaring sound in my ears. I could only hear a voice shouting, "Give the bitch to me!"

"Who's first?"

"What's this? A virgin's robe!"

I prayed for strength and tussled with them relentlessly, flailing my arms about and thanking the stars whenever I made hard contact. They flung me about like a doll, laughing and jeering, until I was thrown against one man and he took hold of me.

"Hold her!" someone ordered.

I looked round and saw a man holding a burning hot stick-like looking object approaching me. I wanted to scream in terror, but my voice was frozen. Nearer and nearer it came, I could almost feel it burning against my skin, when suddenly…

"ACHILLES!"

I caught a flash of golden hair…yells of fright…then the burning stick plunging straight through the neck of the man who was about to brand me. He fell noisily and Achilles appeared. The man who had been holding me now released me and retreated, his mouth working silently with fear. All their eyes were glazed over.

The next thing I knew I was in Achilles' arms and he was carrying me away. My limbs so heavy I could barely move them, but still I struggled, not wanting to be near anyone. Why could they not throw me into the sea and be finished with me, why did they have to torment me in this manner? What was Achilles going to do with me?


	8. The Gods Envy Us

**_Chapter 8 – The Gods Envy Us_**

I was back where I had arrived. Achilles deposited me onto a pile of rugs and I stared up at him, dazed with abhorrence for all Greeks. Silently, he brought over a basin of water and a towel. "You're hurt," he said, so gently that I wondered if this could possibly be the warrior everyone feared. He rinsed the towel. "To fight them, you have courage."

"I fight back when people attack me," I said bitterly. "A dog has that kind of courage."

He leaned in and a sickening horror rolled over me. From somewhere inside I managed to summon up the strength to push him away. He clicked in annoyance and moved closer; I pushed him away again. Clearly annoyed now, he threw the towel lightly into my face. Enraged, I picked it up and flung it back at him. Frustrated, he dropped the towel into the basin and turned away.

Quickly, I leaned over, took the towel and rinsed it myself. The wetness was divine against my face, soothing the stinging of the wounds and making me feel a little more human. I had been feeling more like a dying, suffering beast when they toyed with me.

Achilles held a platter of food out to me. "Eat," he said.

Poison in the food, perhaps? I looked at him, trying to make him out. Was he truly being kind or was he simply playing a game of deception? I did not put anything past this man. He was a hardened warrior, a charmer confident in his ability to seduce women, proud of his almost immortal good looks…caring for nothing but glory on the battlefield. At that, bitterness swamped my heart. "I've known men like you my whole life," I bit out.

"No, you haven't," he said. The quiet arrogance in his voice spurred me on.

"You think you're so different from a thousand others?" I went on resentfully. "All of you understand nothing but war." _They march off to battle gallantly, thinking themselves heroes, while their womenfolk wait with tears back home._

He looked at me speculatively. "You hate these soldiers?"

"I pity them," I said. _For they will never know the beauty of __peace_.

"Trojan soldiers died trying to protect you," Achilles said, a corner of his mouth quirking. "I think they deserve more than your pity."

Once more I saw those lifeless eyes before me, those bloodied broken bodies lying on the sand. For a moment I thought I would vomit, even though there was nothing to expel. Why? Why? There was this Achilles before me, a great, fearless warrior whose each day might be his last, a man who could easily get any woman he wanted. He could live a loving, stable, peaceful life with his family and die at a ripe old age with his children about him. What could possibly induce a man to give this up and choose war? "Why did you choose this life?" I asked.

"What life?"

_Oh, you fool…_"To be a great warrior."

"I chose nothing," he said. "I was born and this is what I am. And you? Why did you choose to love a god?" His eyes were mocking me now. "I think you'll find the romance a little one-sided."

I was irritated. "Do you enjoy provoking me?" I demanded.

"You dedicate your life to the gods," he said, unheeding of me. "Zeus the god of thunder, Athena goddess of wisdom - you serve them?"

Where did he mean to go with these questions? "Yes…of course…" I answered, confused.

"Aries?" he asked. "The god of war who blankets his bed with the skin of the many he's killed?"

Somewhere in my mind, I heard my Uncle Priam's quiet, steadfast voice saying _"The gods are the gods."_ I looked into Achilles' eyes. There was no mockery there, not anymore."All the gods should be feared and respected," I said quietly.

His eyes were compelling, so very compelling. "I'll tell you a secret," he said. "Something they don't teach you at your temple." He edged closer, but I felt no inclination of drawing away as I had earlier. This man's attraction was stronger than any I'd ever known and it was pulling me in. "The gods envy _us_," he said, his voice husky. "They envy us because we're mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything's more beautiful because we're doomed." He paused for a moment, his eyes boring into mine. "You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

There was sense in what he spoke. I could understand it. But what I really understood was the gentleness of his tone, the kindness in his eyes. He was not going to hurt me. He was not going to harm me in any way. _He was going to protect me. _

I forgot he was an enemy; I forgot he was a Greek; I forgot he took lives as easily as he ate; I forgot everything but the fact that here was a man who was willing to fight for me even though his king and mine were at war. Here was a man I could actually trust. Here was a man who had stood up for me against Agamemnon and had rescued me from the soldiers outside.

I reached out and took a grape from the platter, silently eating it. The feel of something in my mouth was almost alien, but I swallowed it down anyway. "I thought you were a dumb brute," I said. I could see him stiffening, but there was a look in his eyes that was almost a smile. "I could have forgiven a dumb brute."

He lifted his hand and I felt his fingers grazing my skin so lightly that I strained to feel his touch. "You're safe," he said.

Much later, when the entire camp was silent, I sat staring at the sleeping Achilles. I could see nothing of the killer in the man who lay before me but I knew he was in there, buried just below the calm exterior. He was the blond man who had led the charge on the beach; he was the leader of the fiercest soldiers in Greece. He was the only one who could defy Agamemnon and get away with it, because he was too vital to kill.

A white flash blinded me momentarily and when it was dissolved I saw Hector's face before me…but it was not the strong, loving face I knew and adored. _It was the face of a dead man…the bloodied face of a man killed by Achilles._

Indescribable terror overwhelmed me. There was no time to contemplate; no time to think of whether it was an hallucination or a vision. I had to kill this cold-blooded warrior before me, kill him now before he could cause harm to any other Trojan man. So many lives would be spared if only he was dead. There was a dagger lying in a corner…rapidly, I snatched it up. I would never have such an opportunity again.

My fingers were shaking, and I willed them to stop. Stealthily, I crossed over to Achilles and pressed the dagger against his throat. Not only my fingers were shaking; my hand was shaking as well. My entire body was trembling.

Abruptly, his eyes opened and I almost fell back in shock. He stared up at me, his face expressionless, his eyes the same cold, remote blue.

"Do it," he said. I could see Hector's death in those icy blue depths. This man was going to kill my cousin some day. My fingers tightened around the dagger and pressed it closer. "Nothing is easier."

I expected his voice to be harsh, but there was only the old gentleness. "Aren't you afraid?" I blurted out.

"Everyone dies." His voice was impassive. "Today or fifty years later, what does it matter?"

His hands shot up and grasped hold of my arms, jerking me forward. "Do it," he said again, more curtly than before.

"You'll kill many more men if I don't kill you," I said, steadying myself.

"Many," he said.

I told myself to push in the dagger, but my hand disobeyed. I could not move it. As I stared, half entranced into his eyes, the vision of Hector faded and I saw the way he'd saved me, the consideration with which he had treated me.

_If I kill him…what then?__ What then? _

He flipped me over and suddenly he was above me and I was below, his body pressing down on mine. I felt his hand sliding up my leg, pushing up my robe, and I began to burn; not in the way I had lain on the scorching sand and died under the sun, but in a way that was completely new. My insides were burning, my outsides were feeling…feeling…_feeling…_

My fingers were weakening now, my hold was loosening. I knew it was a lost cause even before the knife was dropped. His eyes were looking deep into mine; penetrating my mind, my body, my soul, and I was drowning in them. Slowly, he leaned over me, his face closer and closer until I could feel his breath on my face…and then his lips were on mine and he was kissing me, and there was no nose bumping or teeth clanking, just a hot, heavy passion that overtook me completely. I had never known such emotions existed, never knew how a man could make me feel simply by the touch of his probing lips on my skin.

Dimly, in the recesses of my mind, I remembered the vow I had taken to Apollo when I became a priestess…then I dismissed it. I could not adhere to it now; I wanted Achilles, wanted him so badly that I ached for him. I wanted to pull him closer, so close that he would become one with me. He was positioning himself above me now, his lips stilling, then warmness filled me and it was light, a bright, colourful, vibrant kaleidescope of light and warmth and touch…

---  
Thank you all for your lovely comments, if anything, you guys are the ones who spur me to continue writing this fic, so thanks again!


	9. The Morning After

**_Chapter 9 – The Morning After_**

_Look at you, a shameless girl, sleeping with a man you barely know…and you a priestess of Apollo! How will you hold your head up after this? No god will want to accept a defiled body. The Greeks have triumphed over you. They have sent one man to charm you and you fell for it. He cares nothing for you, but you are fool enough not to know it. _

I shook my head violently to rid myself of those thoughts, lifting my hands to my face and covering it as though shielding myself from that nasty little voice. The moment I opened my eyes, the onrush of shame and guilt was overpowering.

I had given myself to the man who was Troy's biggest enemy. _You traitor, _that voice began scolding again. _You have embarrassed Troy. You are a disgrace. _

"You're awake," a voice near me said, and I felt my hands being pulled away from my face. Two crystal clear blue eyes looked into mine and memories of last night came back so vividly that I had to look away. That voice, disconcerting though it was, was speaking the truth and nothing but the truth. I was a disgrace to Troy. Within two days of capture, I was already seduced by the enemy.

"Look at me." His voice was commanding.

_I can't look at him…not after last night. _

"Look at me, Briseis."

When I did not obey, he cupped my face with his hands and forced me to look at him. I stared at him, wanting to hate him, but feeling only a ghastly sense of emptiness inside. "You've won," I said simply.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?" he was bewildered now.

"You have manipulated me into sleeping with you." Those words were painful to my ears and I paused to take a deep, steadying breath. "I can never go home now."

He looked at me for a long time and when he spoke at last, his voice was hard. "Do you hate me that much?"

Stupid, stupid question. "You fight for a king who is waging war on my country," I said flatly.

He gazed at me, his eyes stony. "He is not my king."

I looked away and focused on the pile of rugs. Anything was better than looking at him and being reminded, oh so acutely, of the emotions he'd wrought in me…

Soft lips suddenly came down on my forehead and kissed my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my lips. Even in the throes of passion last night, Achilles had not kissed me like that and I was too stunned to pull away. I did not love him and he could not love me…why then was he kissing me in this manner?

"Briseis…"

The sound of his voice brought me back down to earth and I wrenched myself away. "You don't even know me."

He sat looking at me as though I was an amusing little toy. "You're a wildcat, full of claws and sharp teeth."

Annoyance stirred in me at that flippant answer. "I'm a priestess of Apollo," I said shortly.

The smile died out of his eyes; he looked serious now…serious and frustrated. "Why lie to yourself?" he snapped. "You were made for loving a man, not throwing your life away for some useless god that doesn't even care."

To imagine that Achilles, whose own life was so meaningless, was berating me on throwing away _my_ life! It was unbearable. "And you're giving your entire life up to death and disaster merely because you want to be remembered by people who won't care!" I retorted. "I would rather spend my life caged in a temple and praying to a god every day than kill men as mercilessly as you."

It did not anger him, as I half-expected it to. Somehow Achilles had learned to elevate himself above being bothered by people's remarks. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and reflective. "Some men are born to raise families, and some men are born to eternal war."

"I don't believe that," I said, struggling to remain as calm as he was. "All men are born with a choice."

He smiled rather mockingly at me. "And you? Your choice is to remain pure to the sun god, and stand in the shadows watching the world go by." He paused. "It seems quite a shabby decision to me."

I thought, reluctantly, of Andromache's flushed, delighted face when she had woken up after a hard birth to find Astyanax lying beside her; of Hector's pride whenever he held his son in his arms; of Paris' glowing eyes when he looked at Helen. The emptiness in me grew so bleak that I could not speak harshly to Achilles. Instead of the rebuke I had meant to make at first, I found myself saying, "Do not insult my beliefs and I will not insult yours."

His hand was touching my cheek now, slowly, meditatively. For the first time since I woke up I realised he was wearing a blue garment that barely covered his body, and as I looked at his muscular torso I wondered at his perfection. Indeed, not even Paris was as handsome as Achilles. Could he be mortal? Unbidden, what he'd said to me the day before sounded in my head. _"I know more of the gods than your priests. I've seen them."_

He bent his head and brushed my lips with his. I wanted him to stop kissing me, stop touching me, stop looking at me with that expression in his eyes…because whether or not he was mortal, he was a man…and one I was falling in love with.

He got up, rummaged about and eventually threw a robe at me. "Put this on. The men found it in the temple…I have no idea what it was doing there…but it'll clothe you properly."

The material of the robe was coarse and badly sewn, totally unlike the beautiful robe I'd been wearing before, but I slipped it on without complaint…and not too soon either, because the moment I was decently clothed a voice spoke behind me.

"Achilles."

Achilles turned around, as did I. A boy…not much older than I – why, perhaps even younger…stood at the entrance.

"You imprudent young dog, who told you to come in?" Achilles asked, but there was no real animosity in his tone. In fact, if I could believe my ears, I actually heard warm affection in it.

"Galen wants you," said the boy, totally unresponsive to Achilles' fondness.

"One of these days I shall teach you to be slightly more polite to your elders," said Achilles with mock sternness as he got up. "Where are you going?" he asked as the boy turned to leave the tent.

"I am going back to my tent. Where else do you expect me to go?" the boy retorted.

"Stay here," Achilles ordered. "You can keep this young lady company while I'm gone." As an afterthought, he added, "Cut the hands off anyone who dares to enter…especially if they are from Agamemnon."

Sullenly, the boy consented and Achilles left. He looked none too happy at having to guard me. If I had not been afraid of Agamemnon sending Coeus to throw me back to the soldiers outside, I would have told him to go…but as it was, I endured his sulky silence until I could bear it no longer. "I'm Briseis," I said, making an effort to sound friendly.

He glanced at me. "I'm Patroclus."

There was a long pause in which we seized each other up. He was so very young…much too young to be among these brutal men. Had he no parents to prevent him from coming, or was he a runaway?

"You're royalty?" he asked abruptly.

"I'm cousin to the princes of Troy," I replied quietly.

He nodded. "I'm Achilles' cousin," he said after a period of silence.

So this was the reason for Achilles' affection towards him. This boy must have been loved and spoilt by Achilles all his life to dare to speak so impertinently to the latter. As I sat observing him, he struck me once again as being very young. How was it that Achilles had allowed him to come to this war? "You're very young," I said.

He bristled. "Old enough to fight," he answered snappily.

_Men! _All of them the same in their insatiable hunger for battle…always wanting to fight, always seeking glory on battlefields, always delighting in blood and gore. I was tired of their lust for war, so very tired. "There are too many men fighting already," I answered more sharply than I'd intended.

Patroclus scowled. "I want to be one of them. Achilles treats me as though I'm an incompetent little boy when I can fight better than half the Greek army. He was the one who trained me, and he's the greatest warrior on earth."

This boy was so eager that it was disturbing. He had never been in a battle before. That much I knew. A man went into battle with dreams of success and fame and hoards of young women clustering about to throw flowers at them…then came back home, broken and demoralized, never wanting to fight again. I had seen it happen countless times with the Trojan soldiers; the veterans looking more tired than ever, the light in the young ones' eyes giving way to a barely concealed horror. The only thing that kept them going was their love for the country. That was what war did to men, and that was what I wanted to tell this enthusiastic young man sitting opposite me…but I knew he would not listen.

"Do you have a family back home?" I asked him.

"My parents are dead." He said those words in a matter-of-fact way, as though they meant nothing to him at all, but who knew how long he had practiced to say them in such a calm manner?

"I have a family," I said. Something in my throat was choking me, but I went on talking. "I have a cousin who leads the Trojan army, and every time I see him riding off to battle, I crouch by the city walls and hold my breath lest he doesn't come back."

Patroclus swung his head round sharply to look at me, and there was a strange, alien look in his eyes.

"You men," I said, trying to speak without trembling, "you men…you run into your wars, never once thinking of the women left behind, breaking their hearts for those who die."

There was a long silence. Outside, we heard men trampling up and down and calling to each other. Sunlight filtered in through the tent flaps and fell directly on the young, pale face opposite me. Neither of us said anything.

After what seemed an age, Achilles' voice could be heard outside. Patroclus rose and was about to leave when he hesitated and came back. "I understand now why Achilles is so taken by you," he said. "You're unlike any girl I know."

---  
A scene I made up myself...from now on there WILL be a bit of 'making up'! :)


	10. Why?

The sand was warm and comfortable underneath me, and Achilles' arm even more so as I nestled up against him. The waves were breaking out gently onto the shore, the breeze was fragrant as it wafted through my hair, the stars blinking down at us from the night sky. I had lain here before, either alone or with Paris – even once, with Andromache – but I had never felt so…_good_…before.

I was a prisoner in the Greek camp, there was a high, impassable wall separating me from my family and country, and the future was uncertain…but I didn't want to think about it now. I was lying beside a man whom I'd grown to love, and that was all that mattered.

Achilles' voice was reflective as his eyes wandered unseeingly into the darkness before us; stars on crests of waves, tiny lights glittering on the water. "When I was young, I was taught to view myself as different from all others." He paused for a moment. "I was taught that I was a warrior, made to kill and win battles. My mother loves me, but she would prefer to see my name emblazoned in gold in history than have grandchildren flocking about her knees."

_Poor sort of family life, _a sad, almost pitying voice said inside my head. But I remained silent. Had Achilles ever unburdened himself to anyone before? It was unlikely; but I wasn't going to stop him.

He let out a little, hard laugh. "Family and love are lies. All those people claiming to love each other when they would betray one another for their lives." He glanced down at me, his eyes bitter. "The secret of life is to live for oneself, and trust in oneself only."

_No, Achilles, no…_but still I said nothing.

It was much later when he said, almost brusquely, "You don't agree?"

I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, trying to touch his heart of stone. "When I was seven," I said slowly, "I poured hot water all over my aunt when she came for a visit." For an instant, I smiled at the remembrance of Uncle Priam's huge, horrified eyes as my aunt began shrieking hysterically. "It was an accident, but my uncle refused to believe it and wanted to thrash me…the only time, I think, that he ever wanted to beat me. Hector…" a hard, choking feeling came into my throat as I mentioned that name. "Hector…rushed in between us and told my uncle that he would take the beating for me. No matter how my uncle tried to push him away, he wouldn't budge. In the end Uncle Priam was so furious he beat Hector instead. Uncle almost wept after it, and apologized to both of us for his temper, but the physical wounds were there…and Hector had taken them for me."

_A worse punishment than if I had been beaten myself. _

Then Achilles spoke with a mild touch of amusement in his voice. "What did they teach you, pampered niece of Priam?"

I smiled softly, thoughtfully, to myself. "They taught me that wherever I am, whatever I do, there will always be my family behind me, supporting and loving me." His arm around me tightened slightly as I sighed. "They taught me to love every tree…every flower…every blade of grass in Troy…every star which lies over Troy…the hills…the birds…the people…the gods…" Then I shifted my head up to look at him straight in the eyes. "But above all, they taught me to _love_, Achilles…to know compassion and sympathy and honour."

He looked back at me, and for a moment I saw a confused, lonely man, striving to understand these greater things in life.

"There are times when a man cannot stand alone," I said quietly. "Times when you just need someone around…"

Later on, as we lay on the bed after lovemaking, he stroked my face meditatively, his other arm encircled around me, but said nothing, as though still pondering over our conversation earlier. This man was so extraordinarily diverse; there was a multitude of things to discover about him just below the surface. And each moment that we were together, I was falling more and more for him.

"Am I still your captive?" I asked softly. His eyes were beautiful…so warm and expressive when they abandoned the cold, stony gaze.

"You're my guest," he replied.

There was a silence, then, "I'm leaving tomorrow."

What? Leaving tomorrow? What did he mean? "Would you leave this war behind?" I asked in complete confusion.

He looked at me for a long while, as though trying to judge the level of my love for him. "Would you leave Troy?" he asked meaningfully.

Then I understood.

He wanted to take me back to Greece, to start a new life with me, to give up his ambitions of becoming a hero. He wanted the love of a family that I'd spoken of; he didn't want to spend his life chasing after some dream which would eventually kill him.

I thought of leaving Troy; the most beloved place on earth, the most beautiful country…_home. _But when I looked into his eyes I knew that there could be no other answer.

We fell asleep then, him cuddled up close to my back with his arms around me. When before I had dreamt of my family, I dreamt of him now. What would spending the rest of my life with Achilles be like? Dangerous, unpredictable, maybe a little frightening…but then again there was so much potential gentleness, love, emotion in him…

What woke me up I will never know. But when I did wake up, Achilles was standing at the tent flap, looking out. There was a strange roaring noise outside, cries and shouts of men, and through the gap between his body and the tent, I caught a glimpse of something bright flashing by. "What's going on?" I yelled.

He swung back, his jaw set and his eyes hard. "Get dressed and come with me," he said shortly.

Haphazardly, I scrambled into my clothes somehow and the moment I was ready, he grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me outside.

Fire, fire was everywhere. Flaming fireballs cannoned straight through the camp, destroying tents and huts and men. Everywhere men screamed with the agony of their burns. Some were scurrying down to the sea, bringing back basins of water and flinging it desperately at the flames, but for all the results of their troubles, they might as well have not.

"Zeus above," murmured Eudorus, who was standing behind me.

Achilles snapped into action. "Get out of here!" he bawled at his Myrmidons. "Do you want to die?"

"Cousin!" Patroclus appeared. His face was white and his eyes were gleaming. "The men need help! They are suffering! Look at Agamemnon's boat!"

Both of us accordingly looked, and what I saw made my heart leap. The boat with its ostentatious three tents was burning, and from the light of the flame I could make out that obese Agamemnon jumping about and screaming in rage. I had no sympathy reserved for him; in fact, the sight of his burning boat was one of the most satisfactory sights I'd ever seen.

But the rest of the spectacle was not. It was…_horrifying. _I knew that this fire came from the Trojans, who were my own people; but I was here, I was in the camp engulfed by flame, and I could feel the heat tearing at my face! The smoke burned my nostrils and hurt my eyes; I felt my mind turning blank and my knees weakening. Such fire was appalling.

Then Achilles' arm came round me, strong and supportive. "Eudorus," he barked. "Get Briseis to a safe place."

I felt Eudorus taking hold of my arm. "Come, my lady," he said gently.

"_Cousin!"_ Patroclus pleaded. "Look at them! We can't just stand here!"

I saw Achilles fix him with a cold look as Eudorus half-dragged me away. We went all the way down the shore to a little sandy area surrounded by trees and backed by a high cliff; then stopped, unable to go on any further. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No," I managed to gasp.

I have no idea how long I lay there, panting and struggling to regain composure. Eudorus said nothing at all; merely sat beside me, looking thoughtfully at the sea. What were his thoughts? Why did he sit as still as if he had been touched by Medusa? I needed some human comfort; someone to talk to; it didn't matter about what, I simply needed to hear a voice. Almost blindly, I reached out and grasped his arm. "It was…that was…horrible…"

He glanced down at me, his eyes soft. "Yes, my lady, to see men screaming and dying…it is always horrible in the beginning. But one soon gets used to it."

"I don't believe it," I cried. "I will never, no, never get used to it, even if I see a million men dying on a million different days." I looked up at him, but his face swam before me. "I can…I can still hear…their screams…and their faces…"

"Briseis!"

Oh, thank God. I turned around and found myself encircled by two strong, warm arms. "Is it over?" I asked, trying my hardest not to allow my voice to tremble.

"It's over." Achilles brushed my hair away from my cheeks. "It's all right."

All night he held me, rocking me gently in his arms, dropping light kisses on my hair. It was so comforting to be leaning against him; so…so _secure_ knowing that he was there, protecting me. The horrors of the attack muted when he held me and oh, I loved him, yes, I did love him…

Why did it have to change? Why could we not have stayed together, forever? I will never understand.


	11. Death And The Killer

A/N: It's been a while since I've updated this, hasn't it? Eek. So sorry for the delay :(

---

When the faint beams of daylight seeped into our tent, my eyes were wide open to perceive them. Achilles had, somewhere along the course of the night, fallen asleep, but I had remained frustratingly awake.

There were sounds of roaring outside the tent, men stamping, shouting, swords clinking…was there going to be yet another battle? Would this never end?

Achilles stirred and I turned my head to look at him. He half-opened his eyes, wrapped his arms a little more securely around me, and snuggled his head into my shoulder.

"Achilles," I murmured.

He made a protesting sound in the back of his throat.

Seeing him as he was now, with his blond hair messed and his face filled with sleepy content, it was increasingly difficult to believe that he was the great warrior feared by so many men. How could there possibly be an Achilles, who could kill without batting an eyelash, and yet the same Achilles, who could hold me comfortingly the entire night? It was impossible, it was downright…ludicrous. And yet it was true.

He was the enemy, but I didn't want to leave him. I _couldn't_ leave him. He was already a part of me, so deep and so tender that to leave him would be to tear out a piece of myself. Stay with him. How simple it sounded. Yet…it meant never going back to Troy, never seeing Hector or Paris or Andromache or Uncle Priam again.

Oh, why, why, why? Why did I have to lose in order to gain?

The sounds were getting louder and Achilles stirred again, obviously displeased at being waken up at such an early hour. "Idiots," he muttered.

"There's going to be a battle." I reached out and tugged at his hair gently.

"Mm."

"Aren't you going to fight?"

"No." He moved his head from side to side.

"And…your men?"

"I told them not to."

"Even after last night? You don't want revenge…?"

"Hush." One side of his mouth curved up into a smile. "Revenge and battle and glory…they're not worth getting out of bed for."

"But worth leaving Greece for."

Achilles raised an eyebrow. "If I hadn't left Greece you wouldn't have met me, so what are you complaining about?"

"No one's complaining." That said, I inched forward and pressed my lips against his.

"That's more like it," he said approvingly as we parted for breath.

Seeing as he evidently wanted to continue sleeping, I settled down again into the circle of his arms and closed my eyes. Nightmarish scenes were probably happening right outside the tent, but I didn't want to think about it now; actually, didn't want to think about it ever. I suppose it was a very selfish thinking, but really…I was just so tired of it all. Was it so wrong to want to rest peacefully in the arms of the one I loved?

It seemed a very short while before we were both disturbed by Eudorus calling, "Achilles!"

I pushed Achilles and he grunted. "Get up," I said. "It's Eudorus."

He heaved a tremendous sigh as he forced himself up. "This should not be tolerated."

"Just go and see what he wants, then you can come back and sleep the day away," I said, giving him a sweet smile.

He smiled in return and went out, closing the tent flap behind him. I heard a few muted voices as I pushed myself up into a sitting position and rubbed my face. Another day. What could Eudorus possibly want?

I heaved myself up and made my way out of the tent. Why were the Myrmidons returning as though from battle? Why was Eudorus on his knees? A nasty core of dread manifested itself in my stomach and slowly spread itself throughout my body. Something had to be wrong. The Myrmidons would never go into battle against Achilles' wishes. And Eudorus looked heartsick…

"I didn't lead them, my lord." There was a sort of pleading in Eudorus' light eyes. "I thought _you_ did."

What did he mean?

A sudden look of fear overtook Achilles' features. "Where's Patroclus?" He turned his head and shouted, "PATROCLUS!"

"We thought it was you, my lord," said Eudorus, almost pleadingly. "He wore your armour, your shield, your greaves, your helmet…he even moved like you…"

What did he mean? Was it Patroclus he was talking about?

Achilles suddenly charged at him and knocked him to the ground. No! He was going to kill Eudorus…I had to do something…but Achilles looked so enraged. He would kill me if I dared to interfere with him. Would he…really…hurt Eudorus? He loved his Myrmidons…

"WHERE IS HE?" Achilles shouted. When Eudorus didn't reply, he shouted again, "WHERE…"

"He's dead, my lord." Eudorus managed to get the words out. "Hector cut his throat."

Hector…

A mist drew over my eyes and I wanted to shriek, to beg somebody to explain what was going on…and when the mist cleared, Achilles had his foot grounded into Eudorus' chest. Eudorus was already choking…he was going to be killed…someone had to do something!

I pushed all thoughts away and rushed forward. "STOP! STOP!" I screamed.

Suddenly my throat was being gripped and there was no air…I saw a blurred Achilles snarling at me, but it didn't register. Pain was beginning to flash black spots before my eyes…air…I needed air…my throat was hurting…my body was becoming numb…I tried to reach out, to force away that grip, but it just became tighter and tighter…then it vanished and I was thrown to the ground.

I choked, gasping, clawing at the ground. Achilles had done that…he had almost strangled me – he had almost suffocated Eudorus to death. Oh heaven…

Eudorus was lying on the sand, more dead than alive. None of the Myrmidons dared to come and help…they were all standing away, hesitant, frightened. FOOLS! FOOLS! They who could do battle without flinching, who could end a man's life without thinking, were too afraid to come forward and help their friend! Well, if they didn't, then I would. There was no way I was going to be cowed simply because some man had half-strangled me in a fit of rage.

I crawled across the sand to him, reaching out to touch his face. "Eudorus," I tried to articulate, but all that came out was a rasp.

He was gasping lightly, his eyes dilated.

"Eudorus," I tried again, and managed to come out with a barely legible whisper.

He shifted his eyes to my face and shook his head. "No…no…," he whispered, his breath coming out in short spurts, "no, my lady. Don't help me…Achilles will…hurt you…"

I wanted to weep. "I don't care," I whispered.

Every nerve in my body screamed as I forced myself to my feet and half-dragged Eudorus back to his tent. Nothing mattered except helping him to stay alive. Nothing mattered except that Patroclus had been killed – young, eager, enthusiastic Patroclus – and that his killer was my cousin Hector.


	12. I Love You, Hector

**_Chapter 12 – I Love You, Hector _**

Eudorus watched me silently as I wrung the cloth and applied it to his face, washing off the sand that had stuck to the blood on his face. There was so much blood. So much pain. A myriad of thoughts and alarm bells going off in my head, but I didn't want to think about any of that. It seemed like I was beginning to be drawn into a web so complex and stifling that I would never find my way out. If only I could cry out to the heavens, beg the gods to tell me why they were playing such a game with me; tell me why, how, what had I ever done wrong in my life to deserve such trickery.

I hated Patroclus, oh, I hated him with all that was in me. Mindless, stupid fool. What ever possessed him to think that he was good enough to fight in Achilles' armour? Why did he not follow Achilles' orders and load the ship quietly? If he had, the Myrmidons would now be on their way back to Greece and I…I would probably have been with them. No more killing, no more bloodshed, and certainly no revenge to be taken on Hector. For there was no doubt that Achilles would seek Hector out in vengeance for his cousin's death.

Achilles and Hector. The two men I loved most. This was beyond endurance, this was surely too much for anyone to take. It was cruelty to expect me to tolerate this. Who should I side with? Who should I support? Whose life meant more to me? No, this was a decision I absolutely could not make.

"My lady." Eudorus' voice flitted across my thoughts.

Distracted, I looked up at him.

"You are all right"

I nodded. After Achilles' half-strangulation, it hurt to talk. But it hurt more to find that I loved him still...in fact, loved him even more. He was a man capable of barbaric actions, but…I…

"He did not mean to hurt us." Eudorus lowered his eyes and looked at the ground. "He would never hurt you in his right mind, my lady."

"And you"…if only the bitter stinging behind my eyelids would stop.

"He would never hurt us. Achilles is hot-headed and impulsive…and when he is upset, he uses brutality to help him through." Eudorus looked at me again, tenderly. "But do not mistake him, my lady. He loves you. That I know."

"Can…Achilles love anyone…besides his cousin" _The cold-hearted warrior? _

Eudorus sighed. "Achilles has had many women before…he has always attracted and seduced them." Somewhere in my head, a laughing satirical voice proclaimed, _Just like cousin Paris. _"But where you are concerned…" Eudorus managed a weak smile. "I am a warrior, Briseis, and know little of the emotion between a man and a woman, but I truly believe he loves you. Do not give up hope in him."

"It is not I, Eudorus." Despite all my resolutions, I felt tears drop from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. "Circumstances act against me."

I dared not leave the quiet comfort of Eudorus' tent, and during the course of the day two Myrmidons came in to tend to his wound. I closed my eyes and laid down on the fur rugs, aching within and without. I barely knew what emotions I should even be experiencing. Grief for Patroclus, anger at Hector, anger at Achilles, fear for Hector, fear for Achilles? Which? And who could tell me? Uncle Priam had once said that love was always right, but he had been mistaken. There was wrong, so much wrong, in my love for Achilles.

When night fell on us like an ominous dark blanket, we were summoned to Patroclus' pyre. I looked up at the boy's body and felt no grief, only a sort of misplaced anger at his foolishness, and a dully aching pain that he had died before his time. There had been so much life ahead of him. He could have married his ideal woman and raised a family with her. Now, though, he would never have that chance.

Men grieve for their loss when their friends and relatives die. They cry for what they have lost, they grieve for what they will suffer without their loved one. I knew Patroclus too slightly to weep for my own loss. If I had to weep, it would be, instead, for _his_ loss. _His_ loss was the greatest of all.

I wanted to return to Eudorus' tent when the ceremony was over, but he urged me to go back to Achilles. "He might be angered if you spend the night with me, my lady" said he. "It is best to avoid any sort of conflict or misunderstanding."

And thus I returned to Achilles, and spent the night lying in a corner watching as he grieved. My presence had to be grating on his nerves; I was, after all, the cousin of Patroclus' killer, but he said nothing to me; did not even acknowledge me.

The hours passed by slowly. I lost count of them. When Achilles rose from his seat and reached out for his armour, I had no idea whether it was night or daybreak. I knew only that he was going to confront Hector, and that before the day was through either he or Hector would meet the boatman.

I have remembered, time and again, the excruciating hour that Achilles was gone. I remember him sliding on his armour silently, barely sparing me a glance, thinking naught of my pain. I recall him leaving the tent…agony shooting through my body, me getting up and running after him, rushing, rushing, trying to stop him. "STOP! Don't go! PLEASE don't go" Catching hold of his chariot, trying to restrain him even when he shouted "ROPE"…"Hector is my cousin, a good man…" Seeing the anger in his eyes… "PLEASE" the one word that all of us resort to when all pretense is gone and we are pleading from the bottom of our hearts.

Still he went. I could do nothing. I knew that even if I threw myself down before the horses, he would ride on. It was his private mission and he would allow nobody to interfere. That is Achilles the warrior…hard, unyielding, stubborn. Foolish, you call me. Stupid for loving a man like that. Perhaps I am. I argue not with you.

Will I ever be able to describe adequately what I went through, waiting in suspense to see if Achilles would return? The meaningless, futile hope that I clung to that at the very last minute, Achilles would abandon his revenge and save them both? Hector, my darling cousin, my refuge and pillar of strength. Achilles, the man I loved despite the opposing sides; all the inconsistencies and obstructions and voices telling me that I shouldn't. Please do not ask me to choose between them. It is agony, it is wickedness, it is macabre.

In the end it wasn't up to me to make that decision; the gods did. The Greek warrior came back. He walked into the tent uninjured and although there was no aura of triumph about him, I understood immediately.

When only the night before I had pitied Patroclus' loss, I grieved now for my own loss. Hector dead. I sat there, crying, sobs coming thick and fast, sparing me barely time to breathe, bruising my throat, ravaging my eyes. What war, what politics, what romance, what fighting, what peace…I didn't care anymore. Hector was gone and he would never come back and here, stranded in the enemy camp, I was alone in my pain. Nobody could possibly come close to understanding how much Hector's death meant to me; what levels of grief, what depths of despair and anguish. Losing him was losing a brother…a parent…a friend.

He told me, later, that he'd hauled Hector back to the Greek camp and that the corpse was lying just outside. What he intended to do with the body, he did not tell me and I did not want to know. I left instantly and saw my cousin lying on the sand: a spear sticking out of his chest, blood and sand disfiguring his noble face. Dishonoured and insulted in his death. If the gods have any mercy, let me never remember his face as it was that night.

I knelt down and pulled the spear out, dropping it down onto the sand. Then I lifted his stiffened hand and kissed it. "I love you, cousin" I told him. "Paris and I. Did we ever tell you how much we love you? Remember, years and years ago, when you went out on a five-day hunting trip? After two days I missed you so much that I cried for you, and Paris called me a weak sentimental fool, but on the fourth day he cried too. Since then he's always denied it but you know Paris."

It was high absurdity to talk to a dead body but it seemed to me that wherever he was, my cousin heard. I bent down and kissed his hand again, struggling to hold back the choking sobs. "I love you, Hector" I said again. "I'm going to miss you so much. You don't deserve to die. I'll make sure that your body is not mutilated any further…"

The sight of his corpse was too much for me to bear any longer, and so I got up and turned to go back to the tent. It was then that I saw Achilles standing at the tent flap, looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I ought to fear him…and yet, I did not. If I did not fear death, then there was nothing for me to fear. I passed him into the tent and sat down, realistically seeing the cushions and rugs, but mentally seeing Uncle Priam, Andromache and Paris in their grief. I would give anything, do anything, to be with them now.

Achilles came in and began to sharpen his sword. The sharp metallic clinking was the only sound I could hear in that silent night. Troy was silent. The Greeks were silent. There was no sound anywhere, save for the one grating metallic wail. But then again, silence _is_ a sound, and at most times, a far more communicating sound than any other.

Sometime during the night I spoke. "You lost your cousin" I said dully. "Now you've taken mine. When does it end"

My cousin's killer continued sharpening his sword. "It never ends" he said briefly.

I had to leave him. I got up and walked out to the beach, sitting down on the sand and gazing out at the white-capped waves that Hector loved. The pain was as intense as it had been the first moment I realised his death, but another emotion was beginning to emerge; a powerful, hateful, detestable love…for Achilles.

Yes, he had killed my cousin. Yes, he had killed my countrymen. Yes, he was cold-hearted and vindictive. And yes, I loved him. Loved him as the emotionless killer, loved him as the enigmatic man, loved him as the tender lover. Loved him in all that he was. Yet I also knew, with stark clarity, that I could _not_ remain at his side. I loved him in every way and loved him with my soul, but to be with him was impossible. I would leave that very night; take Hector's body with me…carry it, pull it, anything…and charge through the Greek guards. I would not get very far. But at least I would have escaped from my sin.

First, though, let me sit here, let me feel the cool breezes against my cheek. It was a lovely night, starry and pleasantly warm. People taught me from young to love my country, but I think that I loved Troy even before the teaching. Whatever tricks Apollo might have played on me, he had granted me the fortune of being born in Troy and raised by my family. He had allowed me…sinful and futile as it was…to understand what it was to love a man.

Eventually I rose and turned back towards the Greek camp. It was time to make my exit. But why were there so many Greek soldiers standing about? When I left Achilles' tent, the entire camp had been asleep. Something had happened. I ran forward…Achilles was standing to one side and before me…was Uncle Priam.

"Briseis" his familiar, beloved voice said.

Uncle Priam was here! Why, I didn't care, all that mattered was that he was here. I leapt forward and flung my arms around him, hearing his heartbeat, resting my face against his shoulder. Oh, it felt so good to be in my uncle's arms again…it was Troy, it was home. I felt him kiss my head, heard him say with a tremble in his voice"I thought…you were dead." So my family hadn't forgotten me after all.

He released me and I was looking into Achilles' blue eyes. He was standing a little away, watching us quietly, no hint of violence or hatred in his face. There seemed to be a multitude of words that he wanted to say, but when he spoke, he said only three words. "You are free."

I was being drawn to him again, very much like the first time I met him and he'd cut my bonds. Those blue eyes were penetrating my world, obliterating everything else. "If I hurt you…" his voice was guarded, but not against the deep emotion I heard inside him. "It's not what I wanted."

He took hold of my hand and let drop a shell necklace onto my palm. The same shell necklace that his mother had made for him before he left Greece. His hand covered mine…his eyes, for a fleeting moment, conveyed what he couldn't or wouldn't say. Against all the odds, he loved me as I loved him, and it was written in his eyes. Wordlessly, because words were so insufficient in a time like this, I covered his hand with my free one.

_Will this be the last time I will ever see you again, Achilles? _

As though conscious of the fact that he was showing weakness, he released me and looked away. "Go. No one will stop you. You have my word."

"Come, my girl." Uncle Priam was holding out his hand to me.

I had to go. Uncle Priam helped me up the chariot, to which a covered body was tied…undoubtedly Hector's body. We were taking him back with us to Troy. Achilles had let him go.

Even though my eyes were trained on the horses' heads, I could feel him looking at us. "You are a far better king than the one leading this army" he said to Uncle Priam.

A last look? I turned my head and looked at him. His eyes caught on mine and we held the gaze until he vanished from my sight.

That was the way I, a captive, left the Greek enemy camp.


	13. Home

**A/N: **It has been forever since I last updated! Do forgive me because of my severe writer's block – I just lost interest in all my writings. But last night while reading through the story again it came back to me, and I managed to churn out one more chapter! Hope you enjoy this one. Just an observation: it's been over a year since I first started this fic…what a statistic

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**_Chapter 13 – Home _**

"BRISEIS!"

My heart lurched when I heard that cry, and I knew who it was before I looked. Paris was rushing out of the gates to meet the carriage, and before I could even get off properly we were in each other's arms.

I could feel his tears through my clothes, hot tears that were scalding my own cheeks, and sobs that shook both our bodies. I could see nothing, my vision was blurred; and oh, to remain in my cousin's arms forever…to shut out the pain of reality and hold on to this fleeting happiness! Yet all through the joy of reunion a nasty coldness lay heavily in my stomach…a coldness that remains till today, blotting out the perfection of any happiness.

Paris drew away and held me at arm's length, looking me over. "You're alive," he managed to say. "I thought…you were dead…my little cousin Briseis!"

He raised his hand and rubbed my tears away with his thumb. "What happened…to you? Why did they let you back? Did they…harm you?"

"Don't be so impatient, Paris," said a voice behind him. "Briseis looks so weary."

Helen came into view, a Helen of red-rimmed eyes and transparent tears that she made no effort to wipe away. She was swathed in black, a colour that she would wear for many long and toilsome days ahead. This was the least beautiful that I'd ever seen her…and yet, somehow, she seemed more _human _than she'd ever been before.

She kissed my forehead lightly and pushed back my hair. "Welcome home, Briseis," she said softly. "I'm so glad that you're alive. Come away, dear."

I allowed her to half-push me gently past the city gates. I was back in Troy, the beautiful city of my birth…back amongst my people – and yet…why? Why? This coldness inside me…I was so cold. Only _his _touch could warm me. Only him…

I knew, rather than felt, that tears were slipping out of their own volition. I didn't want to think about him, or anything that had happened between us. He was lost to me forever, the Greek warrior who'd taught me how to love. There was no use thinking of him. But as is always the case, the heart disregards what the mind tells it to do, and there was no way I could shut out thoughts of Achilles, even during my first night back in Troy.

Everything was surreal, of a dreamlike substance. Uncle Priam telling me to go to Andromache as soon as I could: "She's been in her room ever since…she doesn't allow anyone in but she'd allow _you"_…Paris urging me to seek him out the moment I was rested…Helen washing my hair as I sat in the tub, soaking up the healing warmth of the water.

"Everything has changed so much, Briseis," she said with a sob in her voice as she slowly ran her fingers through my hair. "Everything. I haven't seen Andromache since this morning, she hasn't responded to my calls. Paris blames himself all the time. And I…I feel such a heaviness in my heart…if ever a woman indirectly killed a man, I killed your cousin. I can't live with it."

I closed my eyes. Coming home was not a release; it was an opening to a world of more grief, more pain. I loved Helen for Paris' sake, but I had nothing to give her. Not now, when my soul hungered for Achilles. Not now, when I felt like a prisoner on the rack, slowly turning and turning. But Helen discerned nothing of this.

"Paris will be better now that you're here, dear," she said in a low voice. "Your disappearance was a shock for him – and he mourns his brother's death very much. This afternoon he couldn't be consoled…he said two thirds of him had died and he'd never get them back."

"Did he?" I said, and if my voice did not tremble, it was because of the effort put into steadying it.

"Yes. Oh, Briseis…" Helen's voice broke. "Can you ever forgive me? You were so happy before I came…and now I've ruined everything. What's to become of us – and Troy, now that Hector is dead? Who will lead the army? I should never have come, I should never have given in to temptation…"

I was so tired. Judge me not, for I truly empathized with Helen, but my soul was so weary. So weary of all the heartrending pain. Yet it was evident that I had to say something. If there was anything, anything at all, that I could give to Helen to lessen her misery, then it had to be given. Slowly, I reached out and touched her hand. "If you hadn't come, my cousin would not have returned," I told her. "Either way I would have lost a cousin. Hector died – it was his destiny. Nothing we can do could have revoked that."

She smiled faintly through her tears. "You're a dear," she whispered, and began rinsing my hair.

When she left I was alone in my room…alone and horribly lonely. How ridiculous was I – not to want company, and yet to feel so alone when they left me! I sat down at my balcony and looked towards the beach. Achilles was there, so near. I could feel him close, thinking of me as I was thinking of him, wondering how destiny could have been changed for both of us if we'd sailed for Greece as originally planned. How far across the Aegean Sea would we have been by now? How closely would his arm have held me to him? _Achilles, my love, how strangely the world seems in shades of grey without you…_

Dimly, I recalled a story that Uncle Priam had told me of my deceased aunt. She had remained a spinster through her life through the lack of suitors, and yet she had been desired once. That man had left her after two moons, and yet in their brief time together he had loved her. She had lived on, enduring life because she knew that once, no matter how long ago it was, she had been loved.

Was I fated to live her life? To have love transform into a memory that I would hold on to even in my old age? But I didn't want that sort of life. Now that I had experienced love, I wanted more of it. I wanted to spend my life with Achilles, to bear his children. To see his face and hear his voice with every sunrise. Achilles, Achilles, how my heart cried out to him. People say that time heals, but for the present time is not a factor and it hurts so much.

"Briseis."

I turned in relief to see Paris standing at my door. "Are you too tired to talk?" he asked.

"No…no. Come and sit with me." I held out my hand and he crossed the room to hold it.

"I can't believe yet that you're alive," he said, after a few moments of studying me intently. "I mourned you as one dead."

"I'm glad I could come back to you alive," was all I could say.

Paris sighed as he looked up at the night sky. "How many times have we sat here before, cousin?" he asked with a twisted smile. "Hoping that father or mother wouldn't hear us talking so late and come in to reprimand us?"

Despite myself, I had to smile. "We were a handful weren't we?"

"I wish we could go back for just one day, Briseis," Paris said. "Just one day. When we stole the horse – do you remember? I dropped down onto your balcony…right here…and told you to be quiet before you made a noise. We went out to the market…saw a race…"

"Chased butterflies," I added. "Joined in a running competition…I was a little afraid because the boys kept teasing me."

"And how angry I was at them!" Paris smiled again. "Those fools, how dare they insult my cousin Briseis! The shinning light of the household, father's darling, and Hector's little beloved."

_Little beloved. _The name that Hector had bestowed on me when, according to Uncle Priam, I was a baby. Nobody but Hector had ever called me that – could ever pronounce those two words in his way, in such a tone of warm brotherly affection. The tears were crowding behind my eyelids.

"Just that day, Briseis," Paris said. "When at the end we were lost and hungry and tired and…Hector came to take us home. Our refuge. Didn't Hector seem like the entire world to us when we were young."

"He didn't seem," I whispered, swallowing a sob. "He _was." _

Paris' hand tightened around mine and we sat silent, drawing on each other's silent comfort and grief. Nobody would ever comprehend how we felt; only the two of us knew. Others could only guess. Andromache loved Hector with all her heart, but even for her Hector hadn't been her world during her growing up years. The first face she remembered hadn't been Hector's and the arms she'd run to, time after time, for little grieves and pains and worries – hadn't been Hector's.

"How are we ever going to continue without him, Paris?" I asked, and finally I could hear the tremor in my voice. "Life has always been so simple. If we have a trouble, we'd take it to Hector. If we needed comforting, we'd run to Hector. But we have nobody now…I know so many people have lost him, too – Andromache has no husband, Astyanax has no father, the army has no leader…but _us, _Paris?"

"I don't know," said Paris brokenly. "But at least we still have each other. At least by grace of the gods you came back."

"Yes, I did," I said, and realised that after all, I was glad to be home.


	14. Andromache

Thank you everyone for all your very kind comments! **_  
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**_Chapter 14 - Andromache _**

Sometime during the course of that night I fell asleep. I can't remember now what I dreamed about. Isn't it strange, how you think your dream is reality when you're asleep, and how quickly you forget it when you awake? No matter how intense the dream is, you only remember the occasional salient point.

When I woke up I was neatly tucked into bed, and Andromache was sitting at my bedside, holding Astyanax in her arms.

"Andromache…"

"Briseis, little beloved!" Andromache laid Astyanax on the bed and enveloped me in her arms. "Oh…my girl…you're not dead…you're not dead…"

I kissed her cheek. "I wanted you so, dearest," I whispered.

She nodded and kissed me back. "When Helen told me last night that you had come back unharmed, I came here directly…I was standing at the doorway when you and Paris were talking about Hector…and I went away. Forgive me, Briseis, for not making my presence known, but listening to you talk about…_him_…it was too much."

"Oh, Andromache…" I felt a deep, aching pain fill me as I took in her swollen eyes and pallid face. "How you have suffered!"

From the depths of her soul she summoned a smile. "But I feel better now that I know you're alive, dear. I wish – _he_ had been able to see you before he died. He was very grieved about you…he talked of you constantly and said how much he regretted not being there in the moment of your greatest need."

All the tears must have been cried out, for I felt no tears coming now. Instead I picked up Astyanax, kissed his little chubby cheeks and held him close; Hector and Andromache's child, the child of love who was now fatherless.

And Andromache…how had she fared? Her eyes were wide and lifeless; her cheeks pale and hollow. She had aged so much in that one day of agony. Andromache, who used to have stars in her eyes and ready blushes in her cheeks. Surely…surely, it had to be too much. My pain faded to an emotion of little significance next to hers. What was _my _brief romance compared to the years of passion and love and companionship Andromache and Hector had shared? How could I ever imagine myself to be suffering when there were others surviving in a living hell?

"Briseis," Andromache looked at me anxiously. "Did they mistreat you in that camp?"

I mutely shook my head.

"But that is strange." She took hold of my hand and looked even closer at me. "They are human, of course, like us – but they are our enemies. Surely they will not be sympathetic to an enemy member of the royal family."

If only I could pour my heart out to her, tell her of my suppressed, shameful yearning for Achilles. But Achilles had killed Hector! Andromache's very soul must be burning with murderous hatred towards him. There was no way I could tell her…to devastate her in that way and throw all her feelings into such turmoil. It would be selfishness of the highest level. No, I could not unburden myself to Andromache. "They were not," I said, willing my voice to remain steady. "For the first few days they were unkind."

Andromache pushed up my sleeves and looked at the scars on my arms. The injuries those Greek soldiers had inflicted on me during my hours under the searing sun were still visible. She looked at me, growing horror in her eyes. "Briseis! Why did you lie? They must have kicked you…beaten you!"

"Yes…yes." I nodded. "But only for the first two days."

"Thereafter? Do not lie, dearest. Let me know."

I looked away from her. "Thereafter, no."

Andromache released my arm. I dared not look at her face…the look on mine would surely betray me. Falling in love with a Greek enemy soldier would be sacrilegious enough…with _Achilles _would be unforgivable. Uncle Priam had not yet spoken of the intimate scene he had witnessed between us, but I knew before long that he would summon me to his presence for a talk. It meant potential danger for both sides.

Oh, the stupidity of it all!

"Briseis, look at me." Andromache's voice was quiet, emotionless.

I forced a nonchalant expression on my face and looked at her.

"No, you aren't fooling me." Her eyes were bright…a little too bright. Astyanax was creeping about the bed, but for once she took no notice of him. "Someone saved you and you fell in love with him. Isn't that true, Briseis? I knew there was something different about you…I could sense it the moment I saw you. Please tell me the truth, dear."

"I can't!" I blurted out. "You don't want to know the truth. You'll hate me forever."

"I won't, I won't," cried Andromache…passionately now. "How could I hate you?"

"Because I have done Hector a wrong."

Her face froze. "You…"

I jumped away from the bed, rubbing my hands together. Strange, they were so cold…whereas inside I was burning with fear and shame. "Achilles saved me. He took me into his tent and protected me from Agamemnon. He cared for me all the while I was there. And…I've grown to care for him, too."

Andromache stayed crouched on the bed, as though something had mortally wounded her. At that moment, I hated myself intensely.

"Briseis." Her voice was an echo. "He killed Hector."

I nodded, forming words on my trembling mouth. "I know. I tried to stop him. But I couldn't, I…"

Then something so shocking happened that I forgot what I was going to say. Andromache slapped me.

She stood before me, her lips quivering and her eyes ablaze with anger, the offensive hand frozen in midair. The slap stung unbearably on my cheek but I was powerless to move. _You deserve it, _a voice said sadly within. _She has done no wrong. You deserve a slap from everyone in Troy. _

Andromache gasped, once, twice, crushed her hand against her chest, then broke down into a storm of sobs as she reached forward and wrapped me in an embrace. "Oh, Briseis…Briseis…I'm so sorry…I should never have slapped you, never, never…I'm so sorry."

"No," I cried wildly. "Don't hug me. Don't defile yourself! Slap me again, Andromache, slap me as many times as possible, I deserve it."

She shook her head violently against my hair. "Hush, don't say that, don't let me hear you saying that again. You shouldn't have, it's true, you should never fall in love with one such as – him – but I should never have slapped you. You don't deserve it!" She drew back and stroked my stinging cheek, tears running unheeded down her face. "But you do know he killed Hector…my husband, your cousin…dragged him behind his chariot like he was worth nothing, just a grain of dust to be spat on! That man has no soul, no heart, he is not a _man!" _

_He is, he is, _my heart screamed, but I made no answer, closing my eyes briefly to ease the pain behind my eyelids.

"Briseis, do you hear me?" Andromache shook me lightly. "Do not lower yourself to his standards. He is just a killer, there can be no emotions in a killer like him!"

"And yet," I whispered, "he fed me and cared for me and protected me."

Andromache stared at me. "Do you think he did that for naught?" she demanded. "You have given him your body, Briseis, that was what he wanted!"

I covered my face and turned away. I had no right to feel anger against Andromache, and I didn't. Only I could know that Achilles had cared for me unconditionally, he would have protected me whether or not I slept with him. But how could I possibly explain this to someone already prejudiced against him?

"Briseis." Andromache was pulling my hands away from my face. "You love him?"

Against my will I nodded.

She looked away, out through the window towards the bold sea where only a while ago ten thousand Greek ships had sailed. "There is right in every kind of love," she said at last.

"You don't hate me?" I dared to whisper.

She looked back at me, wiping her tears away. "No," she said dully. "I don't."

"Why…why?"

She moved towards the window and gripped the sill as though to steady herself. "I've already lost Hector," she said. "I can't afford to lose you, too."

Darling, darling Andromache! Her unfailing compassion, the ready love for everyone that had endeared her to all of us! I wanted to kneel down before her.

"If you love him, then there must have been something in him," she went on. "Something worthy. Don't tell me what it is, Briseis, I don't want to know – he killed my husband, and that is something that can never change. But I'm willing to believe that you love him for a reason…and I can never fault love in any way. Forgive me, dearest, I should never, never have hit you."

I reached blindly for her hands. "You should have, for Hector."

Andromache shook her head. "No, Hector would never condone anyone hitting you, least of all me. Briseis, so beloved by Hector, if I, as his wife, cannot love and forgive you as he would, how can I be worthy of him!"

"Oh…" that word came out as a strangled cry as I fell at her feet, hugging her knees, tears scouring my eyes as they had done yesterday.

Andromache knelt down and hugged me. "Let everything be forgiven between us and…_love_ each other more because Hector would want us to…we must uphold his memory, if nothing else."

I nodded.

I would never be too angry or mature to find comfort in Andromache's loving sisterly embraces. I had told her something of myself that could have stirred her hatred against me forever, but instead found only a willing forgiveness and understanding. She should never have lost her husband in such a devastating way. She fully deserved to have him and her son by her side through all her years. She was one of the many fine, stoic, deserving women who had lost their men through meaningless battles.

And yet, it was only the fortunes of war.


	15. Our Good Girl

_**Chapter 15 – Our Good Girl**_

The sun-dappled sea has white foam on crests on waves as I look out of my window. Little wispy, alluring breezes blow through the palace, enveloping us in a false sense of peace and security. How false it is you can never envisage, for stationed on the white sands of the beach are the Greeks, our enemies just a stone throw away. I have recounted my life – from the childhood years to the war – sporadically, slowly, in flashes and in great detail. I know not what lies ahead, and I am so weary.

Andromache has left me for a while, presumably to coo Astyanax to sleep. Yes, that baby still has sleep in him, that poor child! Looking up at me with his big, innocent eyes, his cherubic smile, clasping his little fat fingers together, breaking my heart with the knowledge that he will never see his father again. It has been almost two days since Hector's death and yet the grief of it still suffocates us – still blankets the palace within its dark, forbidding folds. A grief that goes far beyond the mere death of a much beloved man – right down to the unsettling of a nation, the possible shambles of an empire.

Have you ever read passages which told you that grief tears your heart out, stomps on it, commits you to eternal flames, draws stinging and agonizing tears from your eyes? I've read those passages too. Real grief is nothing like that. It's a hopeless, desperate yearning, a dull, unmanageable ache in your heart, a sort of disbelief, too, that you're really in this situation.

I get up restlessly from my chair. Lovely days were once my delight; they are now my torment. False loveliness is not a comfort. I cannot enjoy beauties when I know that death and destruction fester in the dark corners. No, I must turn my eyes away from the heartbreaking enchantment of the Troy landscape, and fasten my eyes on the harsher realities of life.

Paris has been practicing at his bow and arrow. Helen tells me he's getting very good at it. She watches him every night from a dark balcony as he, oblivious to everything around him, takes shots at a straw figure. I am no fortune teller, but I think the Paris who crawled on the ground and held on to Hector's leg is gone forever. He will never be a warrior like Hector, but he will never be a coward.

I walk along the corridors, hearing the hush within the rooms. We are so quiet. It is not a comfortable quiet; it is an expectant quiet, a horrible anticipative quiet. A quiet I don't like.

I try not to think of _him _ anymore. Not his kisses, nor his embraces, nor his loving looks. There's no point in thinking about it. I am a Trojan, and a Trojan I will stay, no matter who I fall in love with. My first loyalty is to my family, and although I may have forgotten it in those hazy days at the Greek camp, it is nonetheless true.

It doesn't make enduring the nights any easier, but at least my decision is firm.

I walk to the grand hall where Hector's washed body has been laid out for tonight's ceremony. I have not seen Uncle Priam since he took me away from the camp that night; I see him now, standing beside Hector's body with his head in his hands. He has grown so old – my loving, caring Uncle Priam, who never made any distinctions between his sons and I. He has fought many battles in his youth and middle age, but this war is killing him as none other has before.

_He will die before his time. _

I swallow and make my way up to the pyre, not wanting to disturb my uncle, but wanting one look at my cousin before the exclusivity is snatched away by a hundred watching eyes tonight. He looks pale, quiet, anguished, as though worrying over all of us. For a moment I feel a brief bitterness of anger; why did he not order the archers to shoot down Achilles? What was honour compared to preserving your life to save a thousand others? _Did he think of us when he succumbed to Achilles' challenge? _ _Or only of his pride? _

Then all the rebuking voices accost me and I am no longer angry – only empty and hopeless.

Uncle Priam lifts his head and looks at me. He is not crying – kings do not cry. "He's gone, Briseis." He sounds just as empty and hopeless as I feel.

There is nothing I can say.

"He loved us so much," says Uncle, his voice distant. "Loved Troy…and Paris…and Andromache…and me. So much."

"You haven't lost that love, Uncle," I say, trying to still my voice. "He loves us forever."

"But he is gone," my uncle repeats.

"I…" I swallow again to keep the tears at bay. "I will love you _doubly _hard, Uncle."

Uncle Priam looks at me. "My good girl," he says.

"I haven't been good all the time."

"No." He shakes his head. "I _know…_that you are good. Regardless of what happened, you are our good girl."

My heart is too full for words, but I manage a "Thank you, Uncle."

We spend a long time in vigil at Hector's side. He was such an inspiration, a pillar of strength, for us. He seemed the kind of man who would live forever.

I remember how Paris and I had stood on the balcony on the day of his return from the five-day camping trip, watching eagerly for him. We hadn't seen him until he walked in through the gates and looked up at us. The sunlight flashed into his eyes and hair; his skin seemed unnaturally and beautifully golden against the background of blue sea and sky; he was our hero, our prince! It is wrong that he should be taken so early in life – seemingly against the will of the gods.

We congregate there again that night, watching as the priests perform their funeral rites. Helen holds Astyanax; it is beyond us to expect Andromache to hold her baby while she watches her husband burn at the pyre. Tears roll down her cheeks. Mine don't – I have cried out all my tears. My eyes are aching with the burden of dryness.

The rites over, Uncle Priam and Paris commit my cousin to the flames. All that will remain of him will be ashes and our memories.

I make a promise never to forget a single one.

We are hushed, still, waiting. Our prince has died. Our enemy lives on our beach. Achilles told us we will have twelve days of peace in respect for Hector. I remember Achilles' scent, his warmth, his arms around me and his cheek against mine. Whispering in my ear. Rocking me to sleep. I wonder if I will ever see him again – and if I do, which side of the grave will it be?

When the twelve days are over, we will know.


	16. The Greek Horse

**A/N: **I am really so sorry that I've taken such a long time in updating. I think many of the original readers are no longer interested in Troy! But I estimate that there are only about two more chapters to go, and believe me, I do intend to finish this fanfic...and if time allows me today, I will try my best to finish it while I'm still in my 'writing mood'. Sorry to everyone who has been waiting for months for an update!

_**Chapter 16 – The Greek Horse**_

I don't quite want to talk about the past twelve days. It seems to have gone by in this strange, dizzying blur, and I'm not very sure of the colours and shapes. I do recall certain things vividly…waking up to the sounds of Paris practicing his bow and arrow – the coward's sport, our swashbuckling soldiers used to call it – Andromache's sobbing, which seemed to creep into every nook and cranny of the palace, filling all the empty spaces with indescribable sadness…Uncle Priam muttering his prayers at the altar, night after night, as though trying to save Troy from a disaster that he can foresee.

I think everyone inside Troy feels a pressure of this disaster – a sort of imminent attack poised to come upon us. We have grieved for twelve days – within those twelve days, too, the Greeks have been building their attack. Sometimes I look out of my window and see the multitudes of little grey figures stationed on the beach and wonder how we got to this stage. What factors, what circumstances, had convened to bring us to this situation?

"We mustn't think about what happened, but what is happening," Andromache is wont to say. But I think – so much – always – about things that I dare not utter. Of a grey armour and blond hair. A smile and a voice. An arm around me. The touch of a hand on mine. Sometimes it's vague; mostly it's clear. Clearer than anything I've known before.

Yet these wisps of memories do not evoke passion anymore; the little aching pain has gone. I don't really know why – I suppose it has all frozen inside me, somehow. I don't like the coldness, but it's better than the pain. Achilles, the name that cannot be said. What are you doing at this very moment?

But it is not within my right to know. Not…anymore.

"Briseis."

I turn to see Helen standing at the doorway, framed by her black veil. Helen can never be anything but beautiful – with the kind of beauty that drives men mad – and yet she now makes an effort to hide it, to conceal from the world what she perceives as ugliness – for to Paris' wife, her beauty is no longer a gift.

"Look out the window."

I turn and look out. For a moment I can't think, can't feel, can't do anything but gape soundlessly at the wide expanse of beach. Sullied, yes, by unidentifiable dark objects lying here and there, but free from the ships and tents that had covered its landscape. The Greeks were gone. The Greeks were…

"But _why?" _I whisper.

"They seemed to have left during the night. Yesterday evening I looked out and saw them there…today they are gone. And they left something, Briseis." Helen steps up beside me. "You can't see it from this angle, but they left a large horse…as a gift to the gods."

"A horse?" I repeat.

"Yes…to appease the gods, I think, as they seemed to have been overwhelmed by a sort of illness…"

My mouth is dry. I try to wet my lips, but there is no saliva to mete out; my tongue is thick and heavy. Something is wrong in this picture…Agamemnon will never leave quietly and unobtrusively…never! It is not within the man's personality to concede defeat without spilling his last soldier's blood. No illness, no alarm, can drive him away…where are the Greeks?

"They must be somewhere on the Aegean Sea by now," says Helen, her eyes alight with a sort of soft, dewy mist. "Oh, Briseis…it's over…they have left us. We are free."

Free…no, we are not free! "We are _not_ free!" the cry breaks involuntarily from me, and then I am spinning, running, with my breath in my throat, to the hall where I will surely find Uncle Priam and beg him not to fall for the trick. Oh, Uncle, don't believe them…please do not believe them! I have been there, I was among them, I met the king of kings himself…I understood their greatest soldier…talked to him, slept with him, understood him! They are not gone, it is not in their nature to pack and leave like thieves in the night!

As I near the palace gates I hear sounds of celebration…women laughing, men singing, musical instruments at play. Oh, by grace of the gods, my Uncle, what have you done?

"What? What?" I hear myself scream.

"Briseis!" Paris steps out from behind a column and clutches hold of my arm, putting an end to my mad flight. His face is pale; his jaw clenched.

"What's happening?" I manage to make out between painful gasps. My head is throbbing, my heart is thumping…nothing of me seems to be still.

"Father has made arrangements to wheel the Greek horse into the city. They are laying down the logs now."

"Stop it, Paris! Do anything to stop it!"

"Think you that I have not tried to the best of my ability? I told them to burn it…but naught would listen to me. The priests are convinced it is a gift to the gods, and to burn it would be the utmost sacrilege. I am helpless in this matter, Briseis!"

"Are you going to sit there and watch it?" I cry, "are you going to submit to their trickery?"

"It may not be trickery yet…"

"You are lying to yourself! You and I know that this is no simple matter…the Greeks will never leave a horse as a gift to the gods while they leave in silence! No war ends in that manner, Paris, especially one helmed by Agamemnon!"

"Briseis, control yourself!" Paris shakes me. "What can you or I do about this? We cannot go against the priests' word. Remain calm. The Greeks cannot possibly want to do anything before morn. I shall speak to the advisors and generals tonight and remind them to remain vigilant."

"Remain vigilant? There is a celebration going on!"

Paris opens his mouth to speak, but before he can utter a word, another voice cuts in. "My prince, his Majesty requests that you come out to the balcony to see the Greek horse wheeling in."

"I have to go, Briseis." Paris loosens my hold on his arm. "Calm yourself. Nothing untoward will happen."

"Tell Uncle to set up a line of guards around the horse tonight," I call out after him as he turns and walks away. "Tell him not to be complacent…that the Greeks have something planned, and we cannot submit meekly! Please, Paris!"

But he is too far away to hear; and nobody else listens. The horse rolls in – I can hear its creaks even from the middle of the palace. The people dance. The musicians blow their instruments. Flowers are flung gaily into the air. And I weep. Not for anything that has happened, but what is about to happen. For the imminent destruction of my beloved city that I feel…I _know…_is peeking around the corner, ready to spring on us.

"We mustn't think about what happened, but what is happening," Andromache once said. But she is huddled in her room, grieving for what happened, while the crowds outside cheer for joy at what is happening, and I am frozen in fear, alone in my tears, for what is about to happen.


	17. The Night I Died

_**Chapter 17 – The Night I Died **_

Will I live to see the next day? Will I be able to stand at my window and watch, uninterrupted, the sun rising over Troy's horizon? Will I be able to walk down to the dinning room and eat breakfast with my family?

All the little things that have never amounted to anything much are now building up in my head, pleading for me to experience them once more, just once, before they are gone forever. They want me to love them, to notice all the small, intricate details about them that I never did before. The comfort of entering the dinning room and seeing all my loved ones there, safe and sound. Sitting there drinking a cup of milk knowing that everyone in Troy has safely passed one more night.

I want to experience these things again, so much. But the night is still and quiet, and I am uncertain if I can wake up tomorrow and find that life goes on.

I get up from my bed and make my way out of the room. I'm too frightened to be on my own. Even though I may put on a brave front most of the time and defy big strong men, deep inside I'm really terrified. I'm not a hero like Hector; I can't face the enemy head-on without fear in my heart. I often think that if in any case I had to become a soldier, I'd hide in the back row, where most probably I wouldn't have to do any real fighting.

There are two guards sitting at the entrance of the passageway, fast asleep. Their faces are red and they're snoring. Damn them. They're supposed to be guarding us, not snoring away like a couple of pigs after feeding. But it's no use waking them up because they're dead drunk, so I leave them be and shuffle on towards Andromache's room.

Then suddenly there is a scream, and everything changes.

I run out and peer over the balusters…there is fire, fire everywhere…the smashing of glass and the screams of women all combine to make a sickeningly horrific scene. The Greeks have penetrated our city! They are _here, _inside the city, they have come…and they are killing, murdering, destroying…

It's all vague, unclear, I can't think straight. They are here. Our nemesis has arrived, and we're all going to die. There is no hope left; this is an execution, worse than a death sentence. Troy will be decimated, the babies will be killed, the men brutally tortured, the women murdered, and I…I…

A man's strangled cry sounds just below me, and I look down in time to see a Greek soldier hacking him into half with his sword. Blood gushes over the floor; his innards spill out. Oh God! Let me forget that, let me never, ever remember that sight!

"MOTHER!" a child somewhere shrieks. "MO…" the scream is abruptly cut off.

Oh God. Oh God.

There is a sudden searing heat on my face and I turn to see fire roaring up the passageway towards me. It swallows up the two sleeping guards; it races along to consume me, too. Already it burns. Burns…

"NOOOOO!" I scream, or I _think _I scream, with a sound that sounds foreign to my ears, and run. Run, run, run. Get out of here! Oh God, Briseis, move!

A jar from a shelf falls to the floor, bursting into a million pieces and missing me by a mere few centimeters. Fragments fly into my dress and hair, but those don't matter….nothing matters anymore, except surviving the next few minutes.

Everyone looks so terrified…those looks on their faces…the agony, the terror…it all makes me want to vomit. My stomach is lurching, my throat is thick. But there isn't time to think about these…dear Lord…no time to think about anything except surviving…and running…but where? Where? Where can I run to? Every part of the city should be overrun by bloodthirsty Greeks – there is no one corner that is safe, not anymore.

A hand flies across my face and hits the wall. Before I can remove my eyes from the sight of veins hanging from the body part, a woman rushes up to me and clutches hold of my hand. "Princess, your highness!" she shrieks. Her voice is high and shrill; it cuts into my eardrums. "Help me! Please! Help me!"

There is such fear in her eyes, and her grasp is so tight…I open my mouth to scream, but I've lost my voice. I can't look away from those eyes, and I know that the dismembered hand belongs to her…she is holding me with only one hand, while her other…

In a moment her grasp relaxes and she sinks to the ground, unconscious. Perhaps she's dead. I don't know. I can't afford to care. I'm running and I'm alone and…

"PARIS!" I finally manage to scream. "PARIS!"

Where are you, Paris! Save me!

A horse rumbles down the burning corridor, and I sidestep just in time. Someone please, please, help me. Take me away from this. Keep me in a place, quiet and peaceful, where there is no war and no rioting, where nobody hates each other. I want a beach, warm sand under my feet, stars in the sky, Uncle Priam…oh God, where is Uncle?...waiting back home for me, the sound of waves…

_Briseis. _I catch hold of myself before I go mad. There is nowhere to run. I will be slaughtered no matter where I go. I close my eyes and force myself to think. If I was to die…which I surely will…where will I want to die?

"_The gods are the gods," says Uncle Priam. _

"_Your duty is to the gods, always," says the priest. "Men pass away but gods remain."_

With the gods.

"_My little beloved," says Hector. _

Oh Hector…

"_I know more about the gods than your priests. I've seen them," says Achilles. _

With Achilles.

I turn blindly. I don't know if my eyes are blurred with tears, or whether my sight is simply deteriorating. Nothing seems very clear anymore. I run, without a specific heading; simply letting my instinct take me to where I should go. I don't want to run. I want to hide somewhere where I won't see all the terrified faces and glazed eyes. But hide I cannot; and so I run.

Before I can take in my surroundings I realise that I'm running towards Apollo's statue. The god stares vacantly over my head as I drop to my knees and look up at him. Can you see our suffering, Apollo? Can you see how your worshippers are dying in the masses? Won't you do anything to help? ANYTHING?

"Too late for prayers, Priestess," says a voice in my ear, a voice so hauntingly familiar that it shocks me out from my reverie. In another moment my hair is tugged back and a spasm of pain shoots through my head.

Even more pain follows, so excruciating that I am forced to follow the direction to lessen the pain. Agamemnon leers sickeningly into my face and, as if pulling my hair isn't enough, he grasps hold of my throat. "I almost lost this war because of your little romance," he snarls.

His voice mutes into a blur of nasty rasps and rough consonants as I reach into my dress. There's something hidden there that nobody except Uncle Priam knows…a dagger that he forced me to carry about at night in case anything untoward might happen. Nothing had ever happened until now. Nobody I had wanted to stab until now. And stab this fat horrible creature is exactly what I want to do. I _itch _for his blood. I want to see him gasp raggedly, to claw for air through the blood spurting out of his nose and mouth, to feel tenfold the pain that he has inflicted on men, women and children during the years of his cursed life.

"…Trojan priestess cleaning my floors and in the night…" he laughs evilly, pushes his face into mine.

And then he is bleeding, clawing for air like I envisaged him to, the dagger stuck directly into his throat. I stay still, savouring the sight of him staring wildly up at me, dying. Oh, the triumph. The _glory _of this insufferable man who had thought himself greater than the world, dying like any common pest on the street. I'm standing there and watching him die. You cannot imagine the power of it. Nobody can, unless you have stabbed a man who has killed thousands for his own greed, including your own family and countrymen.

A moment later he drops and two soldiers rush at me. There, my death is foretold in their eyes. But oh, what a way to die! Right after killing the most repulsive, wicked man on the face of this earth, by my own bare hands. Right after seeing his eyes staring wildly up at mine, I the killer, he the victim for once. There is no regret, only a rampant triumph, a sense that I have _revenged _the only revenge I have ever wanted in my life.

I blink my eyes and again there is another pair of wildly imploring eyes staring up at me…a dying soldier. But it isn't my own doing…I wasn't doing anything…it is…is. Achilles.

Instantly my knees weaken. It's Achilles. Achilles. Achilles.

Before I can take in what's happening, his arms are around me…his breath on my cheek…and I feel him again, not only physically, but all the love and wanting pouring out of him in a way that he has never allowed before, not even in the Greek camp during the height of our romance.

My head is on his shoulder, he is lifting me up, he's whispering something, I don't know what, and then someone else intrudes my field of vision…he looks familiar…it's Paris, Paris with a bow and arrow, Paris who has been practising day and night and who looks at us and sees Hector's murderer. Paris!

"NOOOOOOO!" a shriek tears out of me.

Paris shoots and suddenly Achilles' entire body stiffens and spasms. I can't feel anything now…I'm crawling, screaming, "NOO! NOO! PARIS! PARRRRIS!"

But he doesn't hear me…he doesn't hear anything. He doesn't…

"STOP! STOP!" I scream hysterically. "NO, PARIS!"

He doesn't even see me! He can't see me! It's just arrow after arrow…I turn my head and there's Achilles kneeling on the ground, there's death in his face, my Achilles, the man who loves me, who would betray his army for me, who protected me from the enemy and swooned me and romanced me. Dying.

Somehow I make my way to him. He's pale, I've never seen him look like that before. Pinch your cheeks, Achilles. The colour will come. Don't look like that. You're undefeatable, you can't be killed.

He puts his hands on my face and I feel the emotion in his hold; the love that's still flowing from him. I love you, Achilles. Please…you can't. Please don't die in front of me.

"It's all right," he says. He wipes away my tears with his thumbs…I don't even know that I'm crying. I don't know anything about myself anymore. All I know is his face before me, the arrows in his body, him dying and I not being able to do anything except watch.

"It's all right," he says again.

My voice catches in my throat. He's not all right. He's not.

He pulls me close. I don't want to know anything except that he's holding me now and his cheek is on my hair and that he loves me and I love him, and there isn't much time left. Make time stop, Achilles. You can do anything. You're my hero, you saved me in every way imaginable. Make time stop.

He takes a deeper breath. "You gave me peace…in a lifetime of war,' he says, and kisses me. My beautiful, my charming, my loving Achilles. But you've always had peace within you, darling. Kiss me more, beloved. Kiss me till you have no more kisses left to give. Because you're going where I cannot follow, and there isn't much time left.

"Briseis, come," says Paris from somewhere behind me.

"Go," says Achilles. His eyes cling onto mine. "You must."

I shake my head dumbly. How can _I _be the one to leave first?

"Troy has fallen,' he says. "Go." _Troy has fallen and so have I. _

"We must go," repeats Paris, annoyingly.

"It's all right,' Achilles says again. "Go."

We look at each other for the last time. I feel like I'm memorizing every feature, every lineament and skin tone, committing them so I'll never forget. He leans slightly forward and kisses me again. I don't know if I'll ever have another one.

And then Paris hauls me to my feet, half-drag me across the courtyard, and I'm looking, looking, looking, as if looks could be tangible, could erase the dumb pain and misery I feel inside.

Because I have left Achilles to die, and there is no time left.


	18. The Beginning

**A/N: **Well, I have finally come to the end of this story. Thank you so much to those who have kept vigil with it. I have enjoyed writing this story…no, perhaps 'enjoyment' is an understatement. This story has absorbed me into its folds whenever I begin writing it, and I hope that it has absorbed you when you read it, too. Thank you for sharing this with me. I did tell you that I always meant to complete this story

_**Epilogue – The Beginning**_

Uncle Priam used to tell me that all things have an end. I could endure anything, survive anything, because some day, eventually, it would come to an end. The ending is what matters. The ending washes out the pain and eases the hurt.

But what nobody ever talks about is the beginning. For us, the Trojan runaways, what end is there to speak of? Everything has ended. We have lost our homes, our families, our friends. We saw them burn before our very eyes; they went up in smoke, along with our hopes and dreams. We cannot speak of an end. The only thing – the most important thing for every civilization – is our beginning.

"We must begin again," Paris said during our first gathering after the frantic flee from the burning city. "This is not our end. All great civilizations meet their ends eventually, but it isn't our time to end yet. This is a new beginning for us."

We cheered him even though our hearts were leaden and our spirit all but broken. We cheered because none of us wanted to end yet. Paris was right; this was not our ending. We still had the Trojan sword. Our King Priam and Prince Hector lived on in our souls. We had not escaped the enemy simply to meet our end in the forests.

And I…I must begin over, too.

My new life has begun…a life with Paris, Andromache, and Helen. There is no hate in me for what Paris did to Achilles. I laid awake the night after we escaped, and put forth the two choices before me. I could either hate Paris; relinquish my link to my last blood relative left on earth, or love him all the better for being my only blood relative, and unite in building a new world for our people. This time, I thought, I would choose the latter. I wanted a beginning, not an end.

And so here we are, trudging toward to find a place that will accept us. There are only about a hundred of us left from the tatters of the glorious civilization that was Troy. I don't know if we will ever be recorded in history. Perhaps people, three thousand years from now, will think that every citizen of Troy went down with it. Perhaps nobody will ever care.

But we will continue on, because we want to continue our lives; to live for those who died; to remember our old loves, our desires, the passions that we left behind in Troy…to spread the memory of what had been Troy – all the glory, all the wordless beauty of generations of men who had lived and died in that city within the walls – a magnanimous king and gentle father, a noble prince and fearless warrior – the children who had run through the enormous gates and frolicked on the sun-warmed sand of the beach.

Will anyone remember the great warrior of the Greeks, handsome and seemingly indestructible, and the insignificant Trojan priestess who loved him?

I don't know what lies ahead of us. I don't think anyone else does, either. But there is a beginning for us; a beginning shaped by all the timeless stories of love and courage and beauty and humanity that have fashioned great civilizations through the centuries, and we will find it. We will.

**- The End -   
**


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